


screwdriver

by somethingdifferent



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, American Politics, F/M, Jewish Ben Solo, Politics, Rey Nobody from Nowhere i will accept nothing less, Secret Relationship, Semi Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, guess who knows nothing about politics, if you guessed me you guessed right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2020-11-16 14:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 101,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingdifferent/pseuds/somethingdifferent
Summary: "Well, well, well," Ben drawls once Rey joins him on the sidewalk in front of the bus, "don't you clean up nice, sweetheart.""You want to call me that again, Solo?" she says, smiling for the benefit of the journalists and crowd of supporters that have their eyes and lenses trained on the bus door, waiting for Leia to emerge. "You feeling lucky today?"Rey is a bright-eyed intern on her first campaign trail, Ben is an irritated data analyst, and how difficult can it be to get a legacy senator elected president? Apparently fucking impossible.[rey/ben; political au]





	1. there's a dead guy in the pool and that dead guy is you

**Author's Note:**

> so guess who knows pretty much nothing about politics and still decided to write a fic about it!! not totally sure how many chapters this will be; am tentatively guessing it'll end up as three or four
> 
> three words to describe this fic: BELLIGERENT!!! SEXUAL!!! TENSION!!!
> 
> all chapter titles lifted directly from veep

_ Siri, why does God allow suffering? _

** 1\. there’s a dead guy in the pool and that dead guy is you **

D.C. used to look so beautiful to her.

They might be in Columbus. She lost track somewhere between St. Louis and Louisville, which she blames on her status as an immigrant, and the fact that she's been averaging four hours of sleep a night. Rey wakes up the second time that day a little after 7 AM, to Poe shaking her roughly by the shoulders. 

“Up and at ‘am, kiddo,” he says. “It’s showtime.”

She asked for this, she knows, had practically begged Leia to put her with the team on the campaign trail. "Sure, honey," Leia had said, smiling. It wasn’t a nice smile though, which is something Leia had always been good at. Spend enough time with asshole men in your career, she said, you perfect the art of smiling without smiling: smiling to say fuck you. Leia was smiling, Rey decided, like a person rubbernecking a car wreck on the side of the highway - a you-poor-sweet-thing smile. A bless-your-heart smile. "You got it."

Rey gets the joke now.

She stretches, rolling her shoulders back and craning her neck until it pops into place. Her limbs are sore and aching from the cramped position she slept in, and the bus smells suspiciously like a junior high locker room. Looking around, she can see just about everybody is looking as rough as she feels. Poe, taking a long drink from the cup in his hand, is the only person in the vicinity who's smiling. Rey is willing to bet he has a triple shot of espresso in there or maybe a hit of ecstasy. She hates him a little bit like she hates everyone in this whole bus a little bit.

Especially _Ben,_ who is yawning in the seat directly across from hers.

"You look like hell," she says, snorting a little. Ben is, for once, less than perfectly coiffed. His tie is completely loose, his shoes are off, and, not that she wants to chance a look long enough to confirm, she's pretty sure his shirt is unbuttoned and wrinkled. Even his hair doesn't seem so lustrous this morning. He must’ve had to nix the leave-in conditioner from his travel bag.

"You have food in your hair," he snaps. That shuts her up only as long as it takes her to figure out he's lying, but by then he's already out onto the sidewalk, verbally battering one of the journalists following Leia's “road to the White House!” (To be said with a manic grin, hands up, fingers splayed in Fosse style jazz hands: _the White House!_)

She’s going to kill him. She’s going to kill him and go to prison for murder and Leia will become president and never pardon her because Ben is her son and she loves him, somehow, which is all kinds of unbelievable. Motherfucker.

Rey watches Ben outside as he rages. She and Finn turned it into a game back in Washington, trying to count the number of swears he used, the number of times spit flew from his lips, and how long it took before the other person started to cry. The journalist is shrinking away from him at this point, looking on the edge of tears. Rey predicts the waterworks will be flowing in thirty seconds or less.

”God damn it,” Poe mutters behind her. He’s looking out the window at the PR nightmare he’s going to have to fix before too much damage can be done. He’s running to the stairs, shouting, before Rey can turn her head to respond, “It’s not even fucking business hours yet.”

And, there go the journalist’s tears right on cue. Rey scoffs and smirks.

Amateur.

Rey was lucky to get the job. Leia is one of only a few senators in the whole of the city who pays her staff a livable wage, interns included. Finn had mentioned her name to the director of communications, Poe, and Poe had passed it onto the chief of staff, Amilyn, and Amilyn had hired Rey on the spot when she came in for her interview, citing a good feeling about her as the cause.

”She does that a lot,” Leia told her later on. “I have yet to see her steer me astray.”

Rey didn’t meet Ben for her entire first month. She found out later it was because he was taking a “strongly suggested” leave of absence from politics, and from D. C. as a whole, one that ended only because his mother secured a nomination in the primaries. Ben crossed the aisle, got a job on his mother’s presidential campaign, and that was the end of it.

Which would be just her fucking luck.

Ben is, as Finn put it when he discovered Solo would be joining the team imminently, a miserable sack of shit shaped vaguely like a human man.

”I mean, he’s handsome, obviously,” Rose said. “In, like, a really weird way where you’re not actually that sure if he is? He could be super ugly but it turns out he’s handsome instead, you know? Or maybe he's ugly and we were all just right the first time."

"That is really useful information, Rose, I'll keep his looks in mind when he's yelling at me for getting his Starbucks order wrong.”

"He's not gonna yell at you," Finn said. He leaned his elbow on the lunch table, dropping his head heavily on his fist, and looking up with a hangdog expression even Rose would have called 'too much.' "Interns are bottom of the barrel. You'll probably never even see him. He’s just gonna spend all his time stewing in his office.”

"Just him and his beautiful statistics," Rose added.

”That’s what I do though,” Rey said. She picked at her fingernails, wondering idly if she should paint them again over the weekend. It would look better, she thought. More professional. “You know they’re going to stick me with him once he comes on board.”

”Don't worry, peanut, there's no way in hell they're going to give him an intern." Finn grinned widely, poking Rey in the side playfully. "He lost a lot of credibility after his nervous breakdown."

"That’s not what we’re calling it to the press,” Rose said, voice muffled through a mouthful of pasta salad. She twisted her fork through her noodles and let it dangle in the air. "It is being referred to as a 'sabbatical.'" Her fingers crooked in quotation marks on the last word, her mouth curled in a barbed grin.

"Only professors who fuck their students and middle aged career women who are finding themselves after divorce take sabbaticals.” Rey’s phone was already out, the words Ben Solo written halfway into the search bar. She held her thumb over the search button, hesitating. After a moment, she clicked out of the window and put her phone flat on the table, the screen facing down. Rey picked up her spoon and dipped it halfheartedly into her microwave ramen. “How old is he anyway? 50? 60?”

"No, he's young and hot." Rose looked at her curiously then, a smile floating around the corners of her mouth. Her voice was amused, on the edge of laughter. Rose had a bad habit of guessing Rey’s thoughts, which was irritating for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that she was usually right. Not in this instance, obviously. "Why, you thinking of sleeping your way to the upper middle?"

"If I'm sleeping my way anywhere," Rey deadpanned, scraping her plastic spoon along the edge of her styrofoam container, "it's going to be straight to the bottom, baby."

They met him the next Monday. Rey’s nails were freshly painted, a glossy peach that was the most inoffensive color she could find in the beauty aisle of the CVS. Rey was scouring various twitter and instagram hashtags for the campaign when he walked into the room, trailing behind his mother like a trouble-making child through a grocery store. He looked like he wanted to die or kill somebody, whichever was most convenient. He was younger than she expected, just like Rose said, god damn her, and he was handsome, unfortunately, god damn him. It was probably just the suit he was wearing fucking with her head, Rey decided, because it looked well tailored and trendy. It was one of those terrible realities of Washington, and most of the country, and most of the world, how easy it is to get away with being an asshole when you have a pretty face, expensive looking shirts, and a truly ridiculous amount of confidence. And, she noticed, if you are seven to eight feet tall, Jesus fucking Christ he was gigantic.

"And here are the interns," Leia said, sweeping her hand around the room as if to say _observe my domain and all the servants I employ within_. Rey loved Leia, she voted for her and would do it again, and so she tried not to let her magnanimous tone annoy her.

”Extremely helpful information,” Ben muttered, seemingly to himself. He nodded once to the room at large before turning on his heel and walking right back out.

”Wow,” Rose said without glancing up from her phone, “what a dick.”

”Whatever,” Finn replied, his eyes glued to his computer screen. “I told you he wasn’t getting an intern.”

”Thank fuck,” Rey said blithely. She looked again at the door where Leia and Ben left, but it was only a quick glance. Clicking through the Twitter profiles of particularly vocal supporters, she wondered idly about the possibility of getting Mon Mothma to endorse the campaign to raise their public profile and improve their numbers with highly educated Gen Xers. Rey decided to bring it up to Poe the next time she saw him. By the time she scrolled all the way through the WeAreTheSparkhashtag, screen grabbing particularly quotable tweets and photos, she had forgotten all about Solo’s foray into their offices and didn’t think about it again for the rest of the work day.

She did think of it when she got home, but she decided that didn’t really count.

”Rey?”

Rey jumped at the sudden voice and looked over her shoulder to see Leia standing calmly behind her desk. She scrambled to her feet and dipped into an unexpected curtsy, her left foot stuck behind her right, knees locked at an awkward angle. ”Ma’am,” she said. She could feel a blush creeping along her cheeks and down her neck and could she be more ridiculous? She stood up straight and fixed a smile on her face as bright as she could muster. “Is there anything you need?”

”No need for the formalities, dear,” Leia laughed. “Please, have a seat. I just wanted to pick your brain.”

Rey sat back down tentatively, prepared to leap to her feet again if necessary. “Anything you need, ma’am.”

”Amilyn and I have been a team for a long time,” Leia began slowly. “She ran the campaign for my first senate race, in fact. We communicate well, go figure. Maybe it’s that we’re both women.”

”Maybe,” Rey said weakly.

Leia looked thoughtful for a long moment. She stared at Rey like she was sizing her up somehow, like she was searching for the ways she might find her lacking. Rey felt uncomfortably close to a slab of meat in a butcher shop, prepped for the requisite slicing and dicing. She shifted in her chair, tucking one high heeled foot behind her shin. “Amilyn told me about your background,” Leia said finally. She raised an eyebrow, her expression hinting at some deep understanding and empathy. Rey didn't let the smile drop from her face, but she could feel it stretching too tight and thin, like a rubber band ready to snap. “About your home, your family, your education here in America. You are a highly impressive young woman, Rey.”

”Thank you, ma-“

”Please, let me finish.” Leia held up one hand, and Rey’s mouth snapped shut. “She mentioned your area of study in college was statistics and data analytics.”

”Ye-es.” Rey split the word in two; she could feel dread settling in her stomach, solid and acrid tasting, like the pit of a peach. She was going to murder Finn if this was going where she thought it was going.

”The other day I was bringing a young man around the offices, introducing him to our team. Ben Solo.” Leia peered over the top of her glasses at Rey. “I assume you’ve heard about him.”

Rey was silent for a beat, before realizing abruptly that Leia expected a reply. “Only a little,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

”He was working as a strategist for our sitting president,” Leia said. Her jaw tightened, a tic that Rey barely discerned before it vanished. “You know Snoke is - Well, never mind all that. We’re very glad to have a mind like Ben on our side.”

”Yes. Ma’am -“

”So I was talking about all of this with Amilyn, and we realized that your background aligns well with Ben's, especially considering his previous position with the White House."

”Of course. Ma’am -“

”My son - I’m sorry, _Ben_ \- is going to be a great addition to our team, seeing as we haven’t had a dedicated strategist on the campaign yet -“

”Ma’am!” Rey’s interjection came out as a shout, and she flushed, embarrassed. “My apologies, ma’am, Ms. Organa, I just - if you’re going to ask me what I think you’re going to ask me...” She trailed off, picking at a loose thread in her skirt. It came loose in her hand, and Rey wrapped it tight around her ring finger. “Please don’t ask me that.”

”Is there any reason why?" Leia leaned in close to her, her lips pursed. "This will be a great move for your career, Rey, and once I win this election, you never know. It could clear the way for a permanent position in the West Wing.”

”I’ve heard a few things about Mr. Solo,” Rey muttered. “I’m not sure he’ll want to work with an intern.” 

Leia’s face was blank for a moment, before it split into a wide grin, all teeth and meanness. “Dear,” she said, her voice sharp and edged, “he doesn’t really have a choice in the matter.”

Rey nodded slowly. She tried, for a moment, to imagine working with the taciturn man she saw the previous week. She pictured perfecting his coffee order, organizing his binder clips, waiting in line at FedEx for poster paper covered in graphs and diagrams and charts. She clenched her jaw, trying to keep from grimacing at the idea of it, at the idea of being deprived of purpose, working under someone who can't or simply won't fully utilize her skills. She opened her mouth briefly, prepared to argue, but instead she plastered on a happy expression and said, “I understand.”

”Great!” Leia clapped her hands together and stood up. “I’m so glad we had this talk, Rey. Keep up the good work!” Leia gave a thumbs up and walked away briskly, off to save America or something like that.

”Wait, so what should I -“ Rey started, but Leia was already out of the room. She turned back to her keyboard and resisted the urge to smash something. She went from having her dream job to being stuck with Ben fucking Solo, the leper of every major political faction in the entirety of D.C. and the shittiest guy in their office to date, up to and including Jarry, who couldn't speak like a human person to save his own mother's life. _Fuck_.

She was going to murder Finn.

"Well, well, well," Ben drawls once Rey joins him on the sidewalk in front of the bus, "don't you clean up nice, sweetheart."

"You want to call me that again, Solo?" she says, smiling for the benefit of the journalists and crowd of supporters that have their eyes and lenses trained on the bus door, waiting for Leia to emerge. "You feeling lucky today?"

That startles a laugh out of Ben, and Rey's grin slips momentarily into something easier, more genuine. She sloughs it off as quickly as it comes, like burnt skin off a roasting animal. She digs her fingernails into the palm of her hand and smiles all the wider for the cameras. "No, ma'am," he says, and he glances down at her, something in his expression softer than before. "Anyway, I was meaning to ask you earlier -"

A delighted shriek of _there she is_ rips through the crowd, and the rest of Ben's sentence is swallowed by the sound of overexcited shouts and squeals as Leia steps daintily down the steps of the bus and into the arms of her adoring supporters.

Rey follows the mass of people bottlenecking the sidewalk leading up to the city's capital building, her sensible black heels clicking on the concrete, and she does not turn around to see if Ben is following.

She knows he is, anyway.


	2. fuck point you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls be kind as my knowledge of politics comes almost exclusively from tv
> 
> be aware: this chapter mentions abortion (just as a political topic)
> 
> having fun clearing out my reylo drafts lol hopefully i will update this again soon! i have a soft spot for this au and the more ideas i have for it the less i know when it will end. guess we'll see how it goes!!!

_ I’m not Joseph Stalin. _

No, that’s true. You’re not. You don’t have a tenth of his charm.

** 2\. fuck point you **

The campaign tour takes off in earnest in Iowa. Rey has never been to Iowa, because why the hell would she have been to Iowa, but everyone around her seems to be pretty damn excited to be there so Rey slaps on a happy face and marvels at the vast, endless fields along with everyone else. Everyone else, of course, except for Ben, who calls it a _god damn flyover state_ loud enough that Poe has to fake a cough to prevent his voice from carrying over to the local press.

Rey elbows Ben in the side before he can continue, and, to his credit, he has the decency to look mildly abashed. "I'm sorry you don't find the midwest up to your standards, Mr. Ivy League." She's standing next to Ben to watch Leia's speech, and she tries not to notice how close he is to her. She tries not to notice how much closer he is now than she jabbed him in the stomach. Rey wipes the sweat from her forehead and squints at the podium.

The entire staff is positioned uncomfortably in the full light of the sun, the only trees on the lawn of the capital building wavering thinly at such a ridiculously far distance that Rey is sure it was a deliberate _fuck you_ on the part of the landscaper. Occasionally, Poe mouths along to the words that Leia says into her microphone, and Rey can't help but notice he's doing a poor job of supressing his smile each time the crowd breaks into wild applause.

Ben scoffs. He doesn't attempt to widen the distance between them. "Remind me where you went to grad school again, Rey? Was it in Providence? Ithaca? Or, no wait, it must've been -"

She sighs heavily. "Penn.”

"Come on, you didn't even let me finish my joke. I was going to go through all the lesser Ivies. I didn't even get to Dartmouth." There is something in the way Ben is looking down at her - there is something in the way his head is tilted towards hers, his voice pitched low and quiet. Like they're exchanging secrets. Rey chooses to ignore it.

"At least this lesser Ivy girl didn't get in on the strength of her name. Remind me, is it the Organa-Solo lab or library?"

"I didn't apply as Ben Solo," he says abruptly. Rey stares at him for a second, blank faced, until he continues, "I'd hate for you to forfeit your lead on a technicality."

"Because I was winning the argument, is what you're saying."

"There you go, put those tuition dollars to use.”

Rey cocks her head, pursing her lips. She will not smile at him, she won’t. “I didn’t pay tuition.”

”Congratulations to you. Now, go ask Poe when we are getting the hell out of this sprawling, endless, corn-fed, Stephen-King-nightmare village.”

“You’re forgetting something, Ben.”

”Fine. _Please_ go ask him.”

”Good guess, but no. Poe has been fine-tuning this speech to the last second, he’s going to be watching your mother’s every move to make sure she doesn’t miss a single word. He’s not going to take kindly to anyone asking him when it’s over.”

He groans, and Rey does actually grin at that, a smile she promptly conceals behind her hand. ”Can you at least go find me some water in this barren desert wasteland?”

”Find it yourself.”

Ben smirks, but he doesn’t press the matter. When Rey can’t feel his eyes on her any longer, she takes a sidelong glance at him. He's tense but trying not to show it, something that doesn't surprise her in the least. Just beyond the staff are the journalists that have been following the campaign, and Ben's been fending off their attempts to interview him. To get him on the record, period. Even now, Rey spots one of them taking a photo of him; she can imagine the headline now. _PRODIGAL SON SUPPORTS MOTHER'S PRESIDENTIAL BID_. 

Rey shifts on her heels, trying not to wince when one of them digs into the mud.

Fucking Iowa.

Rey was not going to get him coffee. She had already decided this and told Amilyn as much the day before she was set to move the things from her tiny little corner in the interns’ room to a tiny little corner by Ben’s office.

Amilyn smiled at her. Rey was starting to get real tired of the whole smiling routine, frankly, but she didn't say that aloud. "I know this isn't exactly what you expected when you came onto this team, Rey. I know Ben is - he has something of a _reputation_." Amilyn snorted. "To put it delicately. But he specifically requested assistance from someone with your kind of credentials. I'm sure he'll be having you do a bit more than running his faxes and picking out his ties."

Rey blanched. "I didn't realize that was something expected of me. Picking out his ties?”

"Oh, honey." Amilyn smiled, a little pitying. "They would've eaten you alive twenty years ago."

So it was settled. Not that she had a say in the matter. Not that anyone had even asked.

The first day with him, Rey went into the office fully prepared to learn his coffee order, fully prepared to tie a perfect half-windsor. She walked slowly, dragging her feet as much as possible. Rose mouthed from her desk, _good luck_, while Finn just grimaced. When Rey entered his office, it was to Solo arguing on his cell, pacing the length of the room like a tiger in a cage.

He completely ignored her. Rey stood there uncertainly, teetering on her heels. She was just about to turn and leave when he produced a folder seemingly from thin air and handed it to her.

"Look over these survey questions," he said, covering the phone with his hand as he spoke. "I want them triple checked for validity. We're running this poll starting tomorrow and I want it to be fucking perfect, so it needs to be on my desk by end of business today. I need you to get it touch with Ackbar and Mothma, set up a lunch meeting for Amilyn tomorrow or Wednesday. It has to be tomorrow or Wednesday and tell them if they can't make the time then they're going to have to deal with me directly. Say you've got that."

Rey's voice strangled in her throat before she managed to nod. "I've got that."

Ben nodded before finally seeming to notice again the person on the other end of his phone call. "What? Are you fucking crazy? Let me talk to him."

Rey waited for another moment, startled into immobility, until Ben looked at her and snapped, "You've got it handled?"

"Yep," she said a little too loudly and left, shutting the office door behind her. She waited for a moment by the wall of his office, clenching and unclenching her hands. Amilyn, walking up to the door, turned to Rey and smiled.

"I take it you met Ben?" she said, just a little too pleased looking in Rey's opinion. Rey nodded mutely. Amilyn smiled wider, all the cat and none of the canary. "I just knew you'd get along."

He wasn't like she imagined.

Rey had thought it would be boring, working with him, at best, and irritating at worst. The first two weeks, she did her best to ignore his waffly politics, his utter contempt for the various politicians and staffers who keep his cell and office line ringing throughout the day (which Rey had to field: all the condescending, patronizing, angry bastards who called Ben Solo). But by the third week, she snapped, because - because Solo was -

He was _insufferable_.

”You pretentious, uppity, horse-faced, fascist dickhead!”

”A dickhead?" Ben grinned widely, and it only made her want to punch his lights out even more. God, if only assault were legal if the person is really insufferable; maybe she'd take it up with Leia when she wins. Ben, for his part, didn't seem angry with her outburst at all. He looked like he almost seemed to be enjoying it. "Is that really the best ending you could come up with? I’m actually more offended that you think you have the right to argue with me when you’re coming up with kindergarten insult like that. A fucking dickhead, my god. This isn’t elementary school, sweetheart.”

"You are _incapable_ of taking a stand on anything important," Rey fumed. "Women make up fifty percent of our population, and the right to choose is a cornerstone of -"

"I'm just giving Senator Organa advice on her talking points for the debate _based on what the data tells_ -"

"Come off it! Data can lie, especially in politics - god, that's the first thing they tell you in grad sch-"

"Oh, please, _please_ give me advice with all your _one month_ of experience. I have been doing this work for ten years -"

"And it shows, because you are so _clearly_ using some outdated methods -"

"Children," Leia intoned from the doorway. "Getting along, I hope."

Rey straightened up immediately, resisting the impulse to curtsey. "Ma'am."

"Senator Organa." Rey noticed, funnily enough, that Solo's posture improved too. She wondered idly if Leia could be bribed to tell embarrassing childhood stories; she would pay for something like that. "Ms. Jackson and I were just discussing your talking points for abortion."

Rey couldn't help herself at that. "What a crass way of putting it."

"What am I supposed to call it, Rey? The thing that doctors do when women don't want to be pregnant?"

"You are the most arrogant, cold -"

"Ahem." Rey and Ben stopped talking. "I just wanted to see how things were going. Poe can hear you from his office," Leia explained. "At the other end of the hall."

"My apologies, ma'am," Rey murmured as Ben mumbled, "Sorry, mom."

Leia pursed her lips and took a step closer to her son. Her voice lowered, but Rey could still hear her as she whispered, "And you're working together well, Ben? Because you were the one who insisted you'd need an assistant and Rey could really be used back with the other interns if you're -"

"I'm very happy with her work," Ben interrupted. He seemed for a moment like he might continue, but instead he tucked his hands into his pockets and pulled them back out. Like he was fidgeting. 

Leia nodded slowly. She looked back and forth between Rey and Ben; something shifted in her eyes that made Rey's gut twist suddenly. "Well," she said, "as long as you're happy, I'm happy. Now, can you please get me those talking points ASAP? Poe's been waiting to write up some remarks and he's starting to irritate the ever-loving fuck out of Amilyn."

"Absolutely, Senator Organa," Ben said. He glanced at Rey, something in his face softening for the briefest moment, so fast Rey could hardly tell if it really had, before he continued, "Thank you for stopping by."

"What is a shiksa?"

Rose snorted into her coffee. "What kind of question is that? Couldn't you just google that?"

"I mean, I don't really know how to spell it. I was arguing with Solo about the results of the immigration control survey, and it got a little bit - heated -"

"Yeah, honey, Finn and I could hear you."

"Anyway. He said I was a shiksa at one point." At Rose's semi-horrifed, semi-amused expression, Rey groaned. "I'm not explaining the context well."

"No, no, I know what you're saying," Rose said, laughing. "I just can't believe he'd say that in the workplace."

Rey looked at Rose, her eyes wide. "Is it, like, really bad?"

"No." Rose laughed even louder. "Well, kinda. It's Yiddish. You know my uncle is Jewish. It means, basically, a gentile woman."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I mean, I _am_ a gentile woman."

"Well. Yes. Okay, how do I explain this without saying what I'm going to say -"

"Rose!" Rey interrupted. "Spit it out, please."

"The way my uncle says it," Rose said, "it means a non-Jewish woman who is, like, a temptress for good Jewish men. Like a seductress." Rose snorted with laughter again, her eyes filling with glee. "He was basically saying you're tempting him."

"He was _not_." Rey flushed. "We were arguing."

"Oh my god, you're blushing. You are trying to be his shiksa temptress!"

"I am _not_!"

"Methinks," Rose said, a gleam of excitement shining in her eyes, "the lady doth protest too much."

Rey shoved Rose's arm, ignoring her cry of, "My coffee! My precious caffeine!" and walked back to his office.

A temptress, she thought. How ridiculous.

Finn is the one who sends her the picture. It's so blurry that at first Rey can't tell what it is. She's about to text him and ask when her phone buzzes again with another message.

_SORRY. ROSE BUMPED MY ARM._

_THIS PICTURE!!!_

_THIS IS YOU??? UR FAMOUS???_

A second, clearer picture comes through a few moments later, and Rey can tell what it is now; Finn must've seen it on a newsstand. She squints at the photo, situated above the caption _SENATOR ORGANA'S SON, BEN SOLO, WITH FELLOW CAMPAIGN STAFFER_. In the picture, Ben is a head taller than everyone around him; god, he stands out in a crowd. He's leaning over just slightly, his mouth open, clearly in the middle of a word. Next to him is Rey, and she looks...

Rey has never liked seeing herself in pictures. Maybe it comes from her childhood, the fact that she was always moving between houses, between families, too many different circumstances, and usually with people who just wouldn't bother to record a memory. The thing about pictures, though, that she has always had trouble with is the things it can say without a word. 

Picture Rey is looking up at Ben, a smile wide on her face, her legs crossed and one high-heeled foot toeing the ground. She looks like a schoolgirl with a crush. She looks like - a temptress. Or something similar.

"Fuck," she mumbles. "Fucking Rose."


	3. america doesn't like you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's another update ridiculously quickly! excuse my eagerness i'm just trying to get as much writing done as possible while i'm off work lol

I will break your legs so severely, you'll end up normal height.

** 3\. america doesn't like you**

  
Chicago is big.

Scratch that.

Chicago is _very_ big.

Ben scoffs at Rey's wide eyes while the bus (emblazoned on the sides: _WE ARE THE SPARK_ and _LEIA ORGANA FOR AMERICA_) rolls serenely through the city’s downtown. It’s late, and the skyline is alight with yellow, white, and red, the buildings reflecting in the inky blackness of the lake below. 

They’re headed to a Holiday Inn for the night, due to the necessary (_but not ideal_, Amilyn says, only half joking) few hours of sleep before the next day of campaigning. Rey is ready to pass out already, but she’s never been to this city before and the whole point of her joining the trail (besides supporting Leia. Obviously.) was to see her new home. Her new country. 

So awake she is, her head leaning on the only still open-curtained window on the bus. Ben, for his part, had snagged a seat next to hers for the easily accessible charging port. Around them, other staffers are murmuring quietly to each other, typing slowly on laptops, absorbed in reading the latest news from Snoke’s campaign.

”I’ve never been to a city like this,” Rey says softly, pressing her fingertips to the window, which is gathering condensation from the storm gathering clouds overhead. She turns and glances at Ben, a smiling lighting on her face. “It doesn’t seem to end, does it?” 

Ben simply looks at her for a long moment before clearing his throat, his eyes shifting to stare behind her. “I guess Chicago is kinda like a big city.”

Rey giggles, and, okay, that’s new. The giggling. She bites the inside of her lip to stop embarrassing herself further. “Kinda?”

”Just wait,” Ben says, leaning in close to her. Rey shivers at the proximity, hoping he doesn’t notice her reaction to the nearness of his body, the low rumble of his voice. Damn Rose, putting ideas into her head. Damn Finn, too, for sending that picture. “Just wait until you see New York.”

“You Manhattan elitist snob.”

“Thank you for calling me elite.”

”Don’t mention it, Solo.”

It’s quiet for a moment, nearly peaceful. Closer to the city now, Rey can pick out which building must be the Sears Tower. “I thought you were from London,” Ben says, a little awkwardly. He seems to be - making conversation?

Rey shakes her head.

”Where are you from, in England?”

”You wouldn’t know it.”

”I mean, maybe, I used to spend summers with my uncle in the U.K. -“

”Jakku.”

“Okay, you were right. I don’t know why I thought I’d know that.” Ben shifts in his chair, the way he’s been doing during the entirety of their time on the road. The bus seats seem ridiculously small with Ben sitting in them, what with his legs stretching almost past the length of the seat in front of him. Ben usually keeps one foot dangling in the aisle of the bus, and it’s led to at least three near falls that Rey is aware of. And his shoulders, Jesus. He is stupidly broad, his suits fitting snugly over his torso. “You’ll like New York,” he murmurs, and Rey almost jumps at the sound, lost in thought as she was. “It makes this place looks quaint.”

Rey cocks her head. ”Does it make you look normal-sized?”

“Almost.”

Rey turns her head back to the view, watching as the downtown passes them by. “I wish we had time to see it.”

”We’ll come back,” Ben promises.

It isn’t until later, when Rey is laying in her twin bed at the hotel, that she realizes what exactly he said.

_We’ll come back._

In the dark, Rey presses the tips of her fingers to her lips.

”So. How is he?” Finn and Rose were on one side of the booth in Corner Bakery, where they’d dragged Rey away from her post for _a real lunch break my god Rey we haven’t seen you in ages_. Rey was sitting on the other side of the booth, and with the question and the way Finn and Rose both had their hands clasped neatly on the table, Rey felt suspiciously like she was being interviewed for a job. Or maybe interrogated.

Rey shrugged, stabbing a piece of pasta with her fork. “He’s okay. He also kinda blows.”

”He hasn’t yelled at you?”

Rey shook her head. “No. Well, yeah, but it’s usually after I’ve yelled at him first.”

”We’re just asking,” Rose interjected, “because he’s, you know. He’s crazy.”

Rey laughed, but it felt strangely - hollow. _Weird_, she thought. “Yeah. Batshit.” She dug into her cavatappi with a bit more vigor than before and ripped off a piece of garlic bread with her teeth. “He’s good at his job though,” she said around a mouthful of food. “He managed to get Ackbar to publicly back Senator Organa, you know he was wavering on that. Thinks she’s too moderate.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows Ackbar should have retired years ago. Just because he keeps getting elected does not mean he’s fit to be in charge of anything more important than a child’s birthday party.”

Rose snorted with laughter, playfully shoving Finn in the arm. “You are so mean about him! I think he’s nice!”

Rey listened agreeably while her friends argued about the merits and flaws of various politicians who Leia had to twist the arms of for support. By the time they’d fully exhausted that particular topic, both of them had forgotten entirely about why they asked Rey to lunch in the first place, and the subject of Ben Solo didn’t come up again for the rest of the meal.

There are two kinds of journalists, Rey figures, the same way there are two kinds of babies.

There's the easy ones and the difficult ones.

The day starts out fine enough; Rey spends a majority of her morning running around like a chicken with its head cut off, but that’s par for the course. By noon, when Leia’s speech is set to begin, Rey is ready to crawl back into bed and sleep for the next twenty years. She’s headed back to the bus to retrieve her portable charger when she runs almost headfirst into Hux, the pen from the Washington Post assigned to Leia’s campaign.

Hux has been after a quote from Ben for weeks, so Rey isn’t surprised when he stops her by saying, “Rey Jackson, right?”

She turns around, plastering on an insincere smile. “How can I help you, Mr. Hux?”

“Same question as always: just wondering when Mr. Solo would be willing to speak with me. I can guarantee a fair and balanced article.” The expression on his face tells her otherwise, but Rey doesn't push it.

”I’m sure you would, but the answer is, as always, Senator Organa has the full support of her son, as evidenced by his presence on her staff. For any other questions, no comment.” Rey gives him one last smile and makes to turn the other direction, when Hux clears his throat behind her.

”I wanted to ask if Senator Organa or her son have heard that Huffington Post is currently conducting research for a profile on the senator’s family life.” Hux sneers when Rey looks at him fully, his eyes bright with the triumph of knowing something more, being one step ahead.

”Any comments from the senator’s campaign come through Poe Dameron,” Rey grinds out from between her teeth. “I’m sure you can figure out how to get in touch with him. If he’ll even take your call. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Rey sidesteps Hux neatly and walks as quickly as she can to the bus. Behind her, she hears a roar of applause as Leia steps up to the podium. 

The Optimistic Driving Time from Chicago to Madison is two hours, which Rey bets Jannah, Amilyn's assistant, will take a minimum of two and a half, so it’s between the speech in Chicago and the speech in Madison that she decides to catnap in one of the back seats on the bus. She's been dead on her feet throughout the midwest. Not for the first time, she envies Poe's ability to sleep whenever and wherever he can; she saw him, once, sleep standing up, leaning against the walls of a capital building. Even more frustratingly, he can always snap awake and alert with minimal effort, whereas it usually takes Rey a minimum of fifteen minutes to get back into the swing of things after a nap.

Rey is grateful, at least, that they've already survived the west coast portion of the trail; the driving times were less optimistic, then, and more _oh please god get us here with minimal complaining_.

She's snuggled up in a row of three seats, armrests shoved up so she can stretch out her sore limbs, when she hears Ben whispering something into his phone. Opening one eye, she can see he's standing by the furthermost window, his hand clenched tightly around the back of one of the seats. His knuckles are white.

"Give you one good reason?" he hisses. "She's not going to win unless you show up, and soon. It needs to be a picture of a loving family." Ben pauses, clearly listening to a response on the other end. "I haven't stood up with her because I can't do it unless you're there. We need to be united, and it's not going to work if you're too busy with your 'business ventures.' I know you think this deal is important, but -"

Rey considers what would be worse now: to announce her presence or try to slip away unseen. Judging by the way Ben is raging quietly, neither option is desirable. She shifts lower down on the row of chairs and prays he doesn't notice her.

"Because you're married!" Ben explodes, and Rey flinches, thinking, suddenly, of slamming doors, smashed bottles. "Because every other candidate in every other election wins with their spouse on their arm! Fuck, it's like you still think she's a congresswoman. I'm surprised she's gotten this far with you off god know where, and what will you do if she wins, huh? If you don't meet us on the trail by the time we get to the east coast, I will - I haven't decided yet. I'll figure it out. Just take the next flight you can to New York. I'll pay for it. You've been away from the campaign for long enough." Ben sighs, the sound so long-suffering Rey is surprised it hasn't been directed at her yet. "Yeah. Yeah, I - I know, Dad." He hangs up without saying goodbye.

Rey isn't breathing; her stomach is twisted in knots.

Ben walks right past her without even a glance in her direction.

She never does manage to fall asleep after that. When they pull up to the cheering crowd in Madison, she's more tired than she's been in a long time.

People in Washington don't have social lives. That was what people were always telling her, and it's not that she didn't believe them, necessarily. It's just that - she didn't think they'd be so completely and devastatingly _right_.

Two months into working with Ben, a month before the beginning of the campaign trail that would see them racing through the continental United States before ending back on the east coast, Rey finally understood why. Like all great and incomprehensible questions, there were multiple layers to the answer.

First were the other interns and, now that Rey basically was one, the other assistants. Going home early (read: on time) felt terrible when everyone else insisted on staying late.

Second was that no one else had a social life, so even if you did manage to leave at a reasonable hour you wouldn’t have anyone to be with.

Third was the genuine desire to work harder and longer for a candidate you believed in.

Fourth was gunning for a full time position.

And fifth, most horribly in Rey’s opinion, was the absurd instinct to stay as long as your boss. To be able to work tirelessly until 7, 8, 9 o’clock and, when he asks you to go home, to say something noble and extremely cool sounding like, “There’s still work to be done,” or “I’ll go home when you go home.” Like she was really in a TV drama about politics, which was called something stupid like _The Campaign!_, with an exclamation point and everything.

All of this was why Rey was at work at 8:45 at night. Again.

Ben’s office was one of the only ones still lit, but Rey could tell by the pulsing in her eyelids that she wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer. They were both at his desk, on either side, reviewing the polling numbers moment by moment from Leia and Snoke’s most recent debate. Rey yawned suddenly and stretched her arms above her head.

Ben blinked at her once, then twice. Rey looked at him, confused, until she noticed an exposed strip of stomach between her silk blouse and high-waisted pencil skirt. She pulled it down quickly, flushing.

Ben cleared his throat, his eyes dropping to reorganize a stack of paper on his desk. “What time is it?” he muttered, almost to himself.

She checked her phone. “9:15.” Jesus, it was later than she thought.

”You should head home.”

”I - I can stay and work more if you need -“

”There is nothing in here that can’t be done tomorrow.” Ben glared at her, his brow furrowed. Or maybe, she thought, it wasn’t really a glare; there was something in the set of his features that wasn’t quite the angry, impatient Ben Solo she was accustomed to. “Go home, you’re not of any use to me if you’re falling asleep.”

Rey opened her mouth, about to argue with him, when suddenly Ben was right there next to where she was sitting, his hand held out. She must have been more tired than she thought, because she didn’t see him walk around the desk to get to her. Rey blinked at his hand, confused, then slowly, tentatively, she took it.

The moment she did, Rey felt a jolt go through her system. Like she was touching a live wire, standing in a puddle of water. Ben slipped his hand away the moment she was upright, and she watched as he returned it to his side, opening and closing his fingers like a flower in bloom.

"Get some sleep," he said gruffly, turning back to his desk, his face hidden from her. Rey nodded, lifting her purse from the floor.

For a moment, she considered saying something, but finally she settled on mumbling, "Have a good night, Ben."

She drove home slowly, in a daze, not registering the sounds of other cars, the sound of the radio.

She could still feel the grip of his hand in hers.

Rey decided to ask Leia directly about joining the campaign on the trail. If it was up to Ben, she was sure, he’d insist he could handle everything _by himself, thank you very much_. Rey wasn't about to let him stop her from going with them; this was her chance to see the States, the way she'd always intended to, before grad school and then working for Leia got in the way.

Leia approved her request with very little discussion.

”Thank you, ma’am,” Rey said, trying to keep the obvious excitement out of her voice. “I won’t let you down.”

Leia’s smile, at first a little smug, a little condescending, shifted into something kinder. “I have no doubt, Rey. Ben has nothing but rave reviews for your work. You’re a big part of why he’s been so happy here."

Rey furrowed her brow, thinking of his arguments with her. _Happy?_ ”I thought -“ she paused for a moment, then forged ahead. “I thought you were the one who wanted Mr. Solo to have an assistant. But then you’ve said that he was the one who insisted on it.”

Leia considered her for a moment, her eyebrows lifting. ”Let’s just say it was a mutual decision.”

Rey couldn't help herself. ”How mutual?”

”We wanted him to have an intern," Leia admitted. "For someone like - someone like my son, he needs a middle man between coworkers, sometimes. He can be - abrasive. He was very against it, at first, but after seeing the offices, and when he found out we already had someone on staff who was qualified, he changed his tune. He insisted we pay you as a full time senior assistant, rather than an intern.”

Rey blinked. Fuck, her head hurt. ”He thought I was qualified? He acts like he has to teach me everything.”

”He thought you were over-qualified. He asked me why you weren’t already with another campaign. Well,” Leia laughed, “he actually told me to utilize your skills before you took them to an oil lobby for a paycheck ten times bigger.”

She blinked again. _Oh._ "Oh."

"Congratulations, again, Ms. Jackson," Leia said, standing up to signal the end of the conversation. "We're all looking forward to having you join us on the road."

"Absolutely." Rey shook Leia's outstretched hand and tried not to think of another hand she'd taken. There was something, Rey thought, there was something constricting her heart in her chest. She smiled widely and ignored the feeling. "Thank you for the opportunity, ma'am."

They roll into Lansing close to midnight. Rey is so exhausted, so tired of being around _people_, she tells Jannah not to wait up after she hands Rey the key to their shared room. Instead, she books it to the hotel bar and orders a vodka cranberry.

"We're out of cranberry juice," the bartender tells her, and Rey feels the intense urge to tell him to go fuck himself.

She smiles as brightly as she can, swallowing her rage. "Screwdriver then."

The bartender shakes his head. "Out of orange juice."

"Really? At a hotel? Are you also out of vodka? Should I be going down the street to the strip club which, by the way, is called the Happy Jack of all the horrible names, and selling myself onstage for some liquor?"

"Ideally no," rumbles a deep voice behind her, "but I'd be lying if I said the idea didn't have its merits."

Rey turns to where Ben stands, casually leaning one elbow on the bar (god, he's tall), perusing the drink menu that she had neglected to notice. "I'm pretty sure I could report you to HR for that."

He shrugs. "So report me. An HR report is actually a positive if you're trying to get hired in D.C. Tell me you still have Jack Daniels."

The bartender actually smiles at Ben. Of fucking course, Rey fumes. "Of course, sir."

"Jack and coke, then, and whatever she's having is on me."

The bartender turns his attention to Rey, nodding when she mumbles, "Gin and tonic." Rey takes a seat while she waits for her drink, looking everywhere around the bar except at him. She can feel his eyes on her while they wait, and she won't squirm. She _won't_. 

"Is this bar really playing fucking Nine Inch Nails?" she blurts out when her glass is deposited in front of her. Ben laughs, loud and sudden, and Rey watches as the bartender walks away, rolling his eyes. "Oh, no, I offended him."

"Well," Ben says, still smiling, "him and me in college."

"No," Rey gasps, meeting his eyes. "You didn't."

He nods, a little self-deprecating. "I did."

"Hurt? The Hand that Feeds?" She gasps again for dramatic effect. "_Closer?_"

"If it was Trent Reznor, I was listening to it." Rey laughs, and Ben smirks and oh, jeez (_and did she really just think _oh jeez_? Really?_), the way his eyes are running over her is positively _sinful_. "Don't act like you don't love Nine Inch Nails. You recognized this song."

"Closer is good in an oh-god-what-am-I-listening-to kind of way," she admits. As if on cue, she hears the opening beats of the song play over the speakers, and Rey claps a hand over her mouth, trying not to screech in horror. "Maybe I should report this guy to HR." She blushes bright red as Trent Reznor starts singing.

Ben, for his part, seems amused at the situation, swallowing down half of his drink as Rey hides her face in her hands. She is not going to look at her boss while the words _I wanna fuck you like an animal_ play all around them. "This song isn't as embarrassing as I remember," he says, absurdly. "There's some interesting things going on."

"Oh god, just kill me now," Rey moans, and drops her head on the bar.

She hears Ben sit down at the stool next to her, and Rey turns her head, still glued to the counter, to look at him. His shirtsleeves are rolled to his elbow, his jacket draped over the back of the stool, and his tie is loose around his neck, revealing the hollow of his throat. For the briefest moment, Rey almost reaches out to tighten it for him, or maybe pull it off completely, and _where the hell did that thought come from?_ Ben looks at her thoughtfully. "You look like you're ready to get some sleep," he remarks.

Rey sits upright, taking a gulp of her drink that's too big. It burns as it slides down her throat, and she coughs. "I'm just ready for this whole thing to be over."

Something flashes across Ben's features that looks remarkably like - disappointment. It's gone the next instant. "Me too," he murmurs, circling the rim of his glass with a finger. 

"Will you stay on if the senator wins?" she asks, propping her chin up on her hand.

He shrugs. "Depends."

Rey furrows her brow. "Depends on what?"

"Depends on a lot of things." He's looking right at her as he says it. His eyes are so focused, so intense and dark and warm, she has to look away, her breath catching. She can feel her heartbeat pumping in her throat.

"Makes sense," she says, smiling softly.

They talk quietly while they finish their drinks, sitting together until long after they should have already gone upstairs. When Rey finally returns to her room, Jannah is already passed out on the bed by the window. Rey strips out of her restricting clothes, puts on an oversized T-shirt, and crawls into the other bed, pulling the comforter tight over her body.

She has a hard time falling asleep, tossing and turning as she is. When she finally does, dreaming about dark hair and the taste of jack and coke, she feels like she's only just closed her eyes when her alarm blares loudly, and the whole thing begins all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PRIDE AND PREJUDICE 2005 DIRECTOR JOE WRIGHT AND PERSUASION 1995 DIRECTOR ROGER MICHELL THANK YOU FOR ALL THAT YOU DO TO INSPIRE ME


	4. the gates of hell have opened, and you're my plus-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again an extremely quick update because i'm doing a bunch of writing while off work and i have NO PATIENCE lol

If anybody asks for me, I've gone outside to scream into the night.

** 4\. the gates of hell have opened, and you're my plus-one**

  
Rey learned about America through television.

In Jakku, when she was a child, she spent hours after school in front of the telly, listening to her foster parents, whoever they were, fighting over money, fighting over bottles of alcohol, fighting over her. She remembers gazing, open-mouthed, at the apartments in _Friends_, the Gilmores' cozy home, the scenery of Boston in _Cheers_, imagining the day she would be that glamorous.

The longer the campaign goes on, the more she can feel it: that America is nothing like she'd pictured.

Finn calls her while they're on the way to Philadelphia. Rey has been excited to see the city again, even if there's no way in hell she'll have any time to explore. Maybe she can sneak out to visit her old apartment while Leia is at the rally; Rey turns over the logistics of such a move in her mind, trying to determine if it'd be worth the time.

It’s late, and the bus is quiet in the way it only gets at night, after the last event of the day. Rey is sitting in one of the aisle seats at the back of the bus, alone save for Jannah, who’s snoring softly as she leans her head on an armrest.

"We miss you, peanut!" Finn's voice is bright and happy, so genuinely excited it makes Rey feel all the more exhausted just hearing it. "Tell me everything. What is it like? Do you love it? Does the senator have a shot at winning?”

"Woah," she laughs, "one question at a time, I think."

"Okay, _fine_: do you love it?"

Rey thinks of the long hours she spends running around, the discomfort of hotel room after hotel room, the lack of privacy, the inability to see any city they journey through. She’s about to open her mouth, ready to tell Finn an honest n_ot really_, when she suddenly pictures Ben, sitting next to her in a hotel bar in Michigan: his silky hair, his roguish grin, the muscles in his forearm as he rested it on the bar top. The way he’d spoken to her and smiled at her.

Rey hears herself squeak, “It’s fun!”

"That's great!"

"It's tiring though," Rey says, her voice, thankfully, returning to a normal pitch. "I'm definitely ready to come back home."

"I'm ready for you to come back too. Rose says she doesn't miss you at all, of course." Rey hears Rose in the background, shouting _he's lying, Rey!_ She smiles, but it isn't without a tinge of sadness. It's like she hadn't really realized how much she missed her friends before. "How's the senator doing?"

"Crushing it."

"That's what I want to hear. I need a fucking job after this, so she better be. D'Acy, you know, Amilyn's deputy, is trying her best to hold down the fort here, but I'm planning on leading an intern uprising."

_No he's not_, Rose says in the background.

"I have had to work through lunch. _Lunch_, Rey. I can't even remember the last time I could go to Corner Bakery, and you _know_ I need my paninis."

"Oh, I know. I've had dreams about that pasta. _Dreams_, I tell you." Rey shifts in her seat, tucking her phone under her other ear as she faces the window. She can see Erie from her window; the lake is a black nothingness, the moon shimmering in its reflection. "Just a little bit longer, and I'll be back, and this'll all be over."

She can hear Finn's smile as he replies, "And then more job applications." Rey hears him take a breath, and then his side of the phone is abruptly muffled, like he's covering it with his hand. "I'll ask her," she hears him mutter, before he continues, "Rose wanted to know how the old boss man is."

"He's not old," Rey says automatically. Then she sputters, tacks on, "I mean, he's fine, I guess."

Finn is quiet for a moment. "Mhm."

"I mean, he's been pretty good so far. We haven't been arguing as much. He's - he's nice."

"Hmm." Rey can practically feel his skepticism through the phone. She digs her fingers in the fabric cushion of her seat.

She stammers, "I - I mean, he's -"

"Rey."

"Ben." Rey lifts her phone away from her ear, distantly registering Rose shouting _you owe me 5 dollars, pay up, bitch_, before she hangs up.

Ben is standing in front of her, his silhouette dark in the low light. She opens her mouth, about to ask him if he needs anything, when he says, abruptly, "You didn't have to hang up."

"No, it's fine, um." Rey tucks her phone in her purse, nearly dropping it on the ground as she does. She scrambles to right herself when she sits back up, her face hot. "We were done talking anyway."

"Alright." He stands there for another beat before sitting in the seat across the aisle from hers, his body turned in her direction. He stretches his legs across the length of the aisle, one of his black leather shoes almost brushing the toe of her heel. "I think I might be arrested for assault if I have to listen to one more minute of Dameron trying to flirt with Amilyn."

She wrinkles her nose. "That's flirting? I thought he hated her."

"I've known him longer than you, and, trust me, that's flirting. He flirts with everybody."

"Oh." Rey considers this for a moment. "Gross."

Ben huffs out a laugh, grinning at her, and she can't help but smile in return. They fall into a comfortable silence for a moment; Rey stretches her own legs into the aisle, next to Ben's. The black fabric of his slacks brush against her calf, but she doesn't move away. "Are you looking forward to tomorrow?"

Rey furrows her brow in confusion for a moment before she realizes. "Oh. Well, I don't think I'll end up having time to see the city much. I was thinking of trying to swing by my old apartment, but I've been looking up the walking distance and it's a bit too far to justify."

"You should go," Ben says. "You don't know the next time you'll be in Philly, especially considering what the senator's last polling numbers were like. We all might be out of a job in a few months anyway."

Rey stares at him, feeling a rush of cold run through her body, shiver through her veins. She adjusts her posture, tucking her legs back behind the seat in front of her. "_The senator?_" she says, and she can tell how hard her voice has become. "That's your mother. And _I'm_ not giving up on her."

"I'm not giving up," he argues. "I'm being realistic. Don't pretend you haven't been thinking about what you'll do if she doesn't win."

"I haven't actually. I have faith in your mother, and I believe this country will make the right decision come election day."

"The right decision?" Ben rolls his eyes, crossing one knee over the other as he leans back in his chair. "Give me a break, Rey. There are no right decisions in politics, especially in this country. There's only _wrong_ and _less wrong_. And since when have people ever made the right decision between those two, especially when it comes to a radical going up against the sitting president."

"A sitting president you worked for," Rey snarls. "Or were we all just supposed to forget how you helped that evil fucking _Neo-Nazi_ -"

Ben stands up suddenly, anger written harsh over his features, and Rey flinches away, bringing her hands up to her head. When she lowers them again, she can see that his face is softer, gentler. And full of shame. "I didn't work for him," he mutters. "I worked for the White House."

"Ben," Rey says when she catches her breath, but he's already walking away.

Behind her, she hears Jannah stirring awake. "What'd I miss?" she mumbles, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

In Texas, early on in the trail, Leia had decided to visit an orthodox synagogue, one that had been recently vandalized. Amilyn and Ben had debated for ages over what the best hair covering would be for her, before finally agreeing on a silk scarf. Rey was the one who had to find an acceptable one, and it had taken her nearly the whole morning sending pictures of various options to Ben until he decided what would work best. There were only ten minutes left before services when she got back to the bus, where he was waiting impatiently, already wearing his kippah. Amilyn took the scarf without a word and rushed it back onto the bus for Leia.

"Please tell me you got something for your hair, too," he said as Rey panted in front of him, half out of breath.

She winced. "No."

Ben rolled his eyes, muttering in irritation, before pulling his pocket square of his jacket. It was white, with green and blue flowers blooming along its borders. "Come here," he commanded. At his tone, she felt a strange frisson of _something_ go through her. She stepped closer without a second thought, allowing him to tilt her chin up so he could tie the scrap of cloth around the top of her head in some semblance of a style. Standing that close to him, she could suddenly see little details she hadn't noticed before: the moles dotting his face here and there, the fullness of his lips, the warm, deep richness of his eyes, shaded a brighter amber in the orange light of the sun.

Rey cleared her throat, glancing away and trying to keep her eyes anywhere but on his face.

"There," he said after a few minutes, his finger brushing underneath her chin as if he was checking the knot, "that should be fine for an hour or so. We'll sit you in the back and make sure you're not in any pictures."

"Thanks," Rey murmured, pulling loose a few wisps of hair at her ears as she examined Ben's neat handiwork in her reflection on the side of the bus. She wondered, idly, if he'd ever had to do that before.

She followed him into the temple, his pocket square fluttering through her hair in the warm breeze.

Rey wakes up in Philadelphia with a stomach ache and to the realization that she overslept by fifteen minutes.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" she shouts at Jannah through the bathroom door.

"I thought you knew what you were doing!"

"Fuck me," Rey mutters to herself, tugging her blouse over her head and doing her level best to tame her hair into something acceptable. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

By the time she gets down to the bus, she's already pissed about the day, and the only thing that would make it worse is if -

"I need to charge." Ben takes the seat next to her, reaching across her body to plug in his phone. Rey tenses as he gets closer to her, her hands closing into fists on top of her thighs. "Don't worry," he murmurs lowly, in her ear, before he leans back, "I'll leave you alone in a minute."

"I'm not worried," Rey says, and even she can hear how stupidly breathless her voice sounds. She crosses her legs away from him, watching the hotel as they pull away from it. She keeps thinking of his eyes the night before, the brush of his leg against hers, which is all just extremely silly, she thinks, how extremely ridiculous. She faces him, and Ben is already looking at her, his expression unreadable. "I -"

He waits for a moment. "You?"

"I'm sorry," she grinds out. "For what I said. I wasn't - thinking about what it meant. It was unprofessional, and I overstepped my position, and -" _and I didn't mean to hurt you._

She takes a deep breath, centering herself. "And I apologize, Mr. Solo."

Throughout her talking, Ben's face is calm, almost forcefully neutral, but on her last words, Rey can see his features change. "Don't go back to that," he says, and his voice sounds - it sounds _pained_. "Don't."

She blinks. "Go back to what?"

"You know." He holds her gaze as he says it, steady. Rey casts her eyes down, and she watches as his fingers open and close, seeming for a moment like he might - like he might reach over to her - "You know."

Rey nods, lifting her eyes back up to meet his. Distantly, she can hear Amilyn and Leia strategizing about her schedule in the city; she can hear Poe sorting through the events for their two days in New York, Jannah dutifully taking notes throughout. The only thing Rey can focus on, though, is the way Ben is looking at her.

"Alright, Ben," she says.

He smiles, and it's like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

Rey thinks: _fuck_.

She is used to being alone. In England, television was her constant companion, easy, predictable, gently familiar no matter where she was; in America, it was textbooks, grading curves, numbers and statistics, her own achievements written out in black and white. It wasn't until she was hired onto the campaign and met Finn and Rose that she really knew what it was like to have a friend.

She is tired of it. Of being lonely.

Ben asks her just after they've gotten to the site of Leia's speech, the last event in Pennsylvania before the buses crawl, through horrific traffic, to Jersey, and then, later in the night, Manhattan. They're standing with the rest of the campaign staff; Rey watches Hux's photographer snap of picture of Ben, the flash blinding her momentarily. Around them, the crowd is roaring.

"Want to get out of here?" Ben murmurs, tilting his head toward her. His mouth almost brushes the shell of her ear, and Rey _shivers, _something tightening in her lower belly. She feels dizzy, like she's at the top of a rollercoaster, looking down at the drop.

Rey turns to look at him, a grin playing around the corners of her lips. "Where?"

"Come on, Rey," he says, and Rey nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels his fingertips brushing against her lower back. "You're supposed to be my tour guide, aren't you?"

She nods, her mouth dry.

Ben grins. "So, let's go."

Rey figures the best way to get there, considering the level of traffic and the current upcharge for ride sharing services, is to walk. _Legging it_, Rose says when they walk to lunch in D.C., or sometimes _hoofing it_, and it makes Rey smile, thinking of her friend. The next moment, though, she's frowning, remembering her words on the phone: _you owe me 5 dollars, bitch, pay up_. She shakes her head to clear it.

With his long legs, Ben is something of a slow walker, which is just fine in Rey's opinion; she's pretty sure she'd have to jog to keep up if he was moving any faster. She realizes this is the first time she's ever seen him somewhere new, doing something just for the hell of it. It's not a bad look for him, she thinks, looking at the loose set of his shoulders, the way his hair is fluttering in the breeze. She can see his ears, the way they stick out just a little too much, and it's so - _cute_. 

_Oh, god_.

"This is it," Rey says when they finally make it to her old building. It's not pretty by any means; a crumbling structure of red brick and peeling white paint. "I know it's not much to look at, but. I wanted to see it again." Ben doesn't answer her; when Rey looks over, he's staring right at her.

"It's not so bad," he finally mumbles, his gaze flickering back to the building.

Rey inclines her head, squinting at where her window used to be. It's grimy and dirty-looking, that window; she wonders if anyone's even cleaned it since she left. "Living here, in a new place, in a new country. It was the first time I was ever really -"

"Independent?" he guesses.

She shakes her head slowly, still searching the window. She can see now there are a few flowers on the sill. Maybe, she thinks, someone is taking care of it. "I've always been on my own in one way or another. It was the first time I was ever really - _free_." Ben is quiet, and she can feel his eyes on her as she continues. "I'm sure your mother told you all about it."

"A little bit," he admits.

"It's not like I try to keep it a secret. The motherless, fatherless child. Here, I could be whatever I wanted, and no one would even know. I could make something new. And I didn't want to ever go back."

He's quiet, considering her. Rey wants to shrink under the weight of his gaze, but she doesn't. She holds her shoulders back, stands straight and tall. "Did you?" he asks.

"Once. I tried to find them, you know. My birth parents. But they were -" _Drunk. Hateful. Pitiful. Sad. Angry. Disappointing. _"Not what I wanted them to be."

"They never are, are they," Ben says, not a little ruefully. 

"I was so jealous of you. Jealous of everybody, really. Because it wasn't _fair, _that I was stuck alone."

"You're not alone." His voice is so intense, suddenly, so forceful with the strength of his protest, that she turns to look at him finally. He's closer than she'd initially thought, and his hands are - gentle. Like he might suddenly cling to the soft fabric of her skirt. She thinks of a warm Texas wind, the way he tilted her chin up, his fingers brushing through her hair.

She meets his eyes, so clear and bright as they are, looking at her with something in them, something deep and enduring and kind. "Neither are you," she says.

She thinks, at that moment, that she can't really remember a time when she hated him.

The walk back to the rally is a little bit quieter, a little bit calmer. They have to get back by 4:45, Rey tells Ben, so they can be on the bus to Trenton before they go to New York. Here and there, Rey points out places she used to frequent in school; a coffee shop she studied in, her favorite lunch place that still make the best sandwiches she's ever had, the library where she spent most of her free time. 

Ben listens intently, which is - expected. Because, she realizes, he always listens.

They make it back with five minutes to spare. Rey can't wait to sit down and rest; she really should have worn her comfortable heels. Then again, she hadn't really known where the day would take her.

"Wait," she hears Ben say, his voice risen an octave in confusion. She turns to where he's standing next to her and notices, just a beat too late, the empty spaces where the buses used to be. Rey feels a curl of dread running through her body. She grapples for her phone and checks her email for the schedule Jannah sent out.

_4:35 - 5:35: ODT PA to NJ_.

Beside her, Ben is - _losing it_. "What the fuck? What the fuck is this hellhole?" he shouts at the sky.

Naturally, it doesn't answer the question.

Rey brings her hand to her forehead and groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> odt stands for optimistic driving time. thank u dfw; his essay up simba is where i learned a few abbreviations for campaign trail schedule stuff
> 
> also thank u to season 4 episode 1 of the west wing for the last moment of this chapter. _can we have!!! a civilization???_


	5. i diagnosed myself with an acute case of "everything's fine"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild warning for mentions of some blood this chapter, but nothing most women haven't seen before lol

Somewhere in the world, there’s a woman exactly my age getting her pussy eaten, and I’m stuck here watching this.

** 5\. i diagnosed myself with an acute case of "everything's fine"**

It takes them fifteen minutes and as many phone calls between the two of them to figure it out. They both have advanced degrees, Leia yells at Ben over speakerphone, so there really isn't any excuse.

It's decided that they’ll take the train to get them to New York while the rest of the team is in Jersey.

”There’s no point in your trying to catch up with us,” Leia says. “Just occupy yourselves, check into the hotel early. You could go visit the old apartment. You’ll figure it out. Now stop calling, you’re tying up my line. I love you, honey.”

Rey grins widely as Ben’s eyes flicker in embarrassment. “Love you," he mumbles.

”And, Ben, you need to pull yourself together about -“

”I can’t hear you, I’m in a tunnel, goodbye,” Ben shouts over his mother’s voice, and promptly hangs up.

“So,” Rey says, trying to bite back a laugh, “the train?”

He nods, rubbing a hand awkwardly over the nape of his neck. “The train.”

She manages to make it another few blocks before she has to sit down.

"We're like five minutes away," Ben complains while Rey jerks her shoes off, one at a time. "We're going to miss the next train, and we'll have to wait another hour, and then - holy shit."

Rey glances down at her heels and realizes, belatedly, that they are dripping with blood. The sidewalk beneath her is scattered with red splotches.

"Oh," she says.

"Holy shit, how long has that been happening?" Before she can stop him, Ben is kneeling in front of her, gently lifting her calf to examine the open blisters. "Damn it, Rey, you should've just told me. We could've gotten a taxi."

Him touching her leg is - _distracting._ To say the least. "I didn't know how bad it was."

"This looks pretty bad."

Rey shrugs. "I've had worse."

"Okay, we need to get you some bandaids and some better shoes. Hold on." The hand not holding onto her ankle fishes his cell from his pocket. She wonders, vaguely, why he hasn't let go yet. His fingers are still curled around around her leg when he announces, "There's a CVS like five minutes away. I can run and get you some bandaids, and then we'll find - I don't fucking know. Some kind of store situation."

"We'll be late for the next train."

"Who fucking cares, we're already running late. We wouldn't have made it. I'd rather you be able to walk than get to the train on time anyway."

Rey's eyes run over Ben while he examines her heel, letting herself take in every single detail about him. The broad set of his shoulders, the way his hands seem large enough to completely engulf her ankle. "I'm sorry we missed the bus," she says.

"It's fine. Here, do you have anything for this in your purse?" Rey digs through for a packet of tissues, handing them to Ben. He rips open the package and presses a tissue to her heel. "Anyway, I shouldn't have dragged you all the way to your apartment, you said that you weren't planning on going -"

"But I wanted to see it," she protests. "It was - nice. Of you."

Ben glances up at her, and his face is so open and tender in that instant that she almost stops breathing.

_Tender? _

In the next moment, it's gone. He scowls as he lifts her other leg for the same treatment. "Don't tell anyone," he says after a while, and she laughs.

While she waits for him on the sidewalk, Rey reminds herself of several things.

One: Ben is her boss.

Two: As Finn and Rose have previously pointed out, he kinda blows.

Three: His mother is going to be the president, and that makes her everyone's boss.

Four: Just in case she forgot, Ben is definitely her boss, and therefore it is a Bad Idea to do many of the things that Rey has been considering recently, such as: running her hands through his hair or, maybe, tracing her finger along the bump of his nose. These, she reasons, are both terrible ideas for things to do with your boss.

Five: He doesn't even care about the campaign very much. Just about winning.

Six: He's not into her in That Way.

Seven: Even if he was into her in That Way, hypothetically, it is very inappropriate because, per reminders One and Four, he is her boss.

Eight: Even if he was into her in That Way, hypothetically, and even if he wasn't her boss, hypothetically, he is probably not very good at dating. She knows this, of course, because she is not very good at dating either.

Nine: He's probably not that good in bed. She's been attracted to plenty of men who seemed like they might know what they were doing who ended up being completely terrible at sex, especially with regard to: doing anything more interesting than sticking their dicks inside her with little to no fanfare. Ben, she reminds herself, would likely end up being more of the same.

Ten: She doesn't even like him like That anyway.

(_Eleven_, a traitorous part of her whispers: _She totally does._)

"Motherfucker," she mutters to herself.

She finds a shoe store not too far from where they'd stopped, and she limps, with some help from the bandaids on her heels and Ben's arm around her waist, toward it to find something suitable for the rest of the day. She'll need something sturdy if she's planning on seeing Manhattan, Ben tells her, so she focuses on finding a set of trainers that will, no doubt, clash horribly with every outfit she has packed.

She finally settles on a plain white pair with black stripes up and down the sides, which the teenager running the counter assures her will look very cool.

Rey raises an eyebrow at Ben when she says it, silently conveying: _see? I'm cool._

Ben lifts his eyes to the ceiling, but makes no comment.

He does insist on paying for the shoes, though, an offer that Rey immediately rejects.

"No."

"Let me pay."

"No!" Rey says again, a little more forcefully. She hands her card to the teenager standing behind the counter. "I am quite capable of purchasing a pair of trainers, and I do not need you to rescue me with your fancy platinum card."

"You know, Rey," he says while the cashier rings her up, "sometimes I get the feeling that you think I make a lot more money than I do."

"You make more than me," she replies dryly. 

"That is true, but my point stands."

"And your point is?" Rey pushes the door open and steps outside, already feeling much better without her heels digging into her flesh. She starts walking back toward the station, a little faster and easier this time, and Ben hurries behind her to catch up.

"My point is," he says once he's beside her again, "if I had paid for your shoes it would be a not completely insignificant amount of money for me, thereby increasing the selflessness and altruism of the offer."

"I'm not sure _altruism_ is the first word people think of when they look at you."

"Well, I can't argue with that." Ben takes Rey's other pair of shoes from her hands without a word and lets them dangle at his side. "It wouldn't have been an altruistic gesture anyway, even if you had taken me up on it."

Rey furrows her brow. "Why wouldn't it have been altruistic?"

"Because -" He pauses, smiling briefly, but it's almost to himself more than it is to her. He takes a breath and continues, "Because you're my assistant, and it is to my benefit to keep you as healthy as possible."

She chuckles, but it's empty, and, fuck, why does she feel like the air has been sucked out of her lungs? "You need me healthy so you can work me to death."

"Something like that," he says without elaborating any further.

They make it to the train on time. Rey almost weeps from relief when she's finally able to sit down; she immediately takes her new trainers off and switches out the bandaids from the box in her purse. The blood soaked plasters she crumples inside a ball of tissue and shoves back into her purse.

Ben watches from the seat across from hers, looking on a bit queasily. "Is this just what it's like, being a woman?"

She looks over her heel, where the flesh is ripped and peeling. "It's only skin."

"It's a lot of blood."

"I'd wager I see a lot more of that than you anyway," Rey points out.

"Oh, god. I don't know how you deal with that either."

"Practice." Once the bandages are layered neatly over her blisters once again, Rey pulls on the pair of thick, woolen socks she'd gotten with her new shoes. She tucks her legs under her body, settling into the chair. She wishes, off-handedly, that she could strip out of her constricting skirt, too, and maybe her bra, which is now digging uncomfortably between her breasts. She tries to adjust it as subtly as possible, but it's no good: she watches as Ben's eyes flicker down to her chest before he forces his gaze back up.

"I literally can't even imagine." He stretches his legs out, letting them lay where her feet would have gone below her seat.

"It doesn't hurt that much, at least not for me. You know, once you're used to it, it's really just this - annoying thing you have to do. Every single month for the rest of your life until you finally get to go through menopause." At his confused expression, Rey flushes. "I'm not actually sure why I'm explaining this to you."

"I don't mind," he says.

"Yeah, but I know men think it's, like, gross."

"It's _weird_, but so is everything about the human body. I don't think it's gross, and neither does any man with a bit of sense."

"It's probably very inappropriate for me to be discussing - _that_ \- with my boss, though," she argues.

Ben laughs. "You're probably right, but I think we're past that by this point. You're the one who told me just a few months ago to, and I quote, get my politician friends out of your vagina."

Rey smiles. "And look at us now. Nothing has changed."

"No," he agrees. "Nothing at all."

She doesn't even realize that she fell asleep until he is shaking her awake. She yawns, stretching out her sore limbs while Ben gathers up her things. Her neat bun from the beginning of the day is a goner, so she pulls it down completely, letting her hair wave gently over her shoulders. Still rubbing her eyes, trying not to fall back asleep, Rey tugs her trainers on and stands up, realizing just a moment too late that the train hasn't actually stopped moving yet.

She crashes clumsily back into her chair, to the sound of Ben asking loudly, "Are you okay?" but she barely notices.

Through the window, she can see, for the first time, the New York City skyline. Rey turns her head back and forth, expecting that, at some point, she might be able to see the end of it. She can't. It must go on forever, she decides. 

"Holy shit," she mumbles under her breath. She glances at Ben, who is watching her with something remarkably like happiness written all over his features. "Holy shit," she repeats.

"I told you," he says, grinning.

They have to take the subway from the train. They stop by her room long enough for Rey to drop off her extra shoes before she insists on going back out. She is ready to sleep again at the hotel, admittedly, but she's willing to stick it out until the rest of the staff gets to the city. She wants, she tells him, to see everything.

"That's not possible," Ben replies, casually crushing her dreams. He's standing beside her on the subway, his hand curled loosely around the top rail going along the ceiling. Rey's got her fingers looped around a pole, trying to avoid people jostling her as they get on and off and different stops. He must notice her disappointment, because he continues hurriedly, "This line goes to Union Square, though. That's where the old apartment is, it's near the Strand and some shopping, too. If there's time, I can show you Washington Square Park or something."

"That is an acceptable alternative to seeing everything," she allows.

"When I was at Harvard -"

"Oh, great, I was hoping you would remind me, you haven't mentioned it in the last ten minutes -"

"When I was at Harvard," he repeats, chuckling, "I used take the train back home on the weekends. Do laundry, argue with my dad. My mom would make these elaborate meals. We had two sets of our dishes, silverware -"

"Cutlery -"

"- and everything, you know. It's all still there, in that apartment. My uncle Luke owns it now."

Rey brightens. "Will I get to meet -"

"Oh, god, no. It's his in name only; my mom just didn't want to get rid of it completely. He lives in England most of the year."

She chews her lip, lost in thought. In the thick of the rush hour crowd, she can see a man toting a cello, a woman with a full face of clown makeup, a little girl singing, albeit poorly, Let It Go. Rey smiles, watching her. "What name did you use?" she hears herself ask, turning back to him.

"Hmm?" Ben blinks at her, seeming a little like he is coming out of a fog as he focuses.

"What name did you use on your college applications?"

"Oh." He turns a deep scarlet, the red flush creeping up his cheekbones. "Um. Kylo Ren."

Rey snorts. "What the hell kind of name is -"

"I know, I know. It's - 'Ren' just sounds like my first name. 'Lo,' for Solo. 'Ky' from Skywalker."

She furrows her brow. "Skywalker? You don't mean -"

"Yes. I do." He sighs, glancing up at the ceiling as the conductor announces in a scrambled voice over the loudspeaker that they are approaching the next stop. "He was my - grandfather."

Rey gasps. "_Anakin Skywalker_ was -"

The train brakes abruptly, faster than she was prepared for, and Rey pitches forward, stumbling directly into Ben as her hand flies free of the pole. Ben, an experienced subway rider, is barely moved from his position while she slams into him. 

When she regains her balance, it's to the realization that her hands are on his chest, her fingers automatically clutching the lapels of his suit jacket. In her trainers, she's shorter than him even more than she's used to. The train comes to a shuddering halt, and the doors open with a ding. Ben's hand comes up to cup her elbow, the other resting on her waist, as if he's about to right her and step away.

He doesn't, though. Instead, his fingers tighten, just for a moment. When she looks up at him, Rey can see his mouth is open, like he's about to form the beginning of a word. His hand traces down her forearm until he's holding hers.

The train groans, slowly beginning to chug forward again.

After a moment, he lifts her hand up, looping her wrist around one of the straps hanging from the ceiling. "You little country mouse," he murmurs lowly, his body tilted close to hers, his voice soft and clear even through the din of the subway. She feels a wave of _something_ course through her, the same feeling she had when he'd commanded her to _come here _in Texas.

Rey forces a grin, and she won't show how his voice affects her because of reminders One through Ten (_fuck reminder Eleven, that traitor_). "City slicker," she shoots back.

It's a long minute before he lets go of her waist. Rey misses the warmth of him the moment it's gone.

She doesn't remember the last time she had sex. It was probably when she was still in Philadelphia, she thinks; it was probably in that first apartment, with the sheets from Target's clearance rack. There might have been a one-night stand here or there in D.C., but nothing memorable enough that she can particularly bring it to mind now. It's never been that enjoyable for her anyway; she's been excited for sex before, wet for sex before, but she's always found it consistently underwhelming, no matter who it was with.

This, of course, makes what's happening so much more irritating.

Because Rey wants to have sex now.

Which.

Is just all kinds of inconvenient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u only skin by joanna newsom particularly minute 6:02-7:35


	6. this is the worst small talk i've ever heard

I honestly think I might be in hell.

** 6\. this is the worst small talk i've ever heard**

New York is terrifying.

From the outside, the city is peacefully huge, calm and full of life, like a giant whale drifting lazily through the ocean. Inside, it's more like a million crawling insects, fighting, fucking, and eating each other. After the tenth time someone fully shoulders her in the side while walking past her, Rey stops counting; she can’t even begin to think about how many people she’s seen singing, shouting, and guffawing at nothing and no one. There is a man standing in the middle of Union Square with no shirt, screaming his head off. As they walk past him, Ben rests his hand on the small of her back, positioning himself between them.

”Don’t look,” he orders her as Rey cranes her head back to watch the man. “If you look he will come over and talk to you.”

”Okay,” she breathes, trying to center herself. She thinks of her yoga classes, her teacher's droning voice:_ in through your nose, and out through your mouth_. “Okay.”

”Just let it wash over you,” he reassures her. “The only thing you have to understand about this city is that no one here cares about you.”

”You’re so kind,” she says, the words dripping with sarcasm.

”Let me rephrase that," he clarifies. "New Yorkers do not care about you because they all have their own shit to worry about, so you don’t have to feel awkward or uncomfortable or self-conscious when you’re here.”

”I feel like I understand you so much better now.”

He smirks. ”You’ll never understand me, Rey, I’m unknowable.”

”I’m sure.”

”It’s this one,” Ben says as they approach one of the buildings. He guides her toward the door and punches in the code.

In the lift, he gives her a wide berth, standing on the opposite wall while she fidgets with her necklace. She turns to him, about to say - something - when the doors slide open.

Ben waits for Rey to step out before he follows her, letting her lead the way to the only door in sight.

When he opens it, she can’t help but stare, her jaw dropping because it’s -

It’s a god damn _dream_.

”Oh my god.” Rey steps into the apartment, her purse slipping off her shoulder and falling to the ground. “Oh my god.”

The windows are the first thing she notices. They’re huge, stretching from floor to ceiling, and through them she can see the entire city, the way the lights in the buildings twinkle on in the growing darkness of the evening. Ben walks around the perimeter of the front room while Rey strolls through the furniture, letting her hands skim over a suede couch, an Eames lounge chair. It must be the most expensive chair she’s ever touched, she thinks.

The walls are covered with framed abstract paintings and photography, weathered looking papers filled with cursive writing, mirrors with gold gilding on the edges. Rey lingers by a photo of a woman in a dress, walking away from the photographer and into the dim night. There is a turntable situated over what must be hundreds of records in a corner by the window; on the opposite end of the room is a grand piano, the ebony top of it clean and shiny. Though it's the size of her first studio apartment, the front room is clearly one of several, as Rey notes when she sees three other doorways.

The shelves lining the entirety of the front room are filled with books, Eastern and African statues, and framed photographs of people who must be Ben’s family. She spots one of Ben when he was a child, his hair short enough to show off his large ears. Rey giggles at the picture, glancing at him as he waits for her to finish exploring.

He seems strangely...relaxed. In his element. Like he’s _home_.

Rey feels a stab of envy. She can’t remember ever feeling like that.

”This place is beautiful,” she murmurs, staring at a picture of a woman she can't place. The woman is gorgeous, her dark brown hair curling over her shoulders, her eyes twinkling. Rey lifts the frame and shows it to him.

Ben walks closer to her to examine the photo over her shoulder. She holds her breath; she can feel the heat radiating from his body.

”My grandmother, Padme Amidala,” he tells her. “She and my grandfather were both in politics.”

”I didn’t know,” she says. “I didn’t know you were connected to this..._dynasty_.”

Ben stares at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. ”You didn’t look me up? My mother?”

Rey thinks back to the first moment she heard his name, how her thumb had hovered over the search button under his name. She shakes her head.

”I heard about her through an advert,” she admits. “I voted for her in the primaries because I liked her policy ideas, but I didn’t really know anything about her.”

”But you’ve heard of my grandfather?”

She shrugs. “Who hasn’t?”

Ben nods thoughtfully. “That’s fair. Not too often a Vice President is arrested while in office.” He takes the frame out of Rey’s hand, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. "People think she died of shame."

"Did she?"

"She died of cancer." His head dips as his eyes search the photo, as if he were looking for a hint of what would happen to her. When he turns to her, his eyes are filled with something that feels to Rey like longing. “She was a poet, too, my grandmother. Her books are somewhere in here.”

”What did she write about?” Rey asks, once she manages to regain her voice.

”They were love poems mostly,” he murmurs.

His hand drifts idly to her waist, and her breath catches in her throat. She feels overheated, like she’s about to pass out. “Ben?”

She can feel the way his chest rumbles as he hums in reply. “Hmm?”

“What are you -“

An oversized cat meows loudly, interrupting her. He toddles up to them, his belly swaying close to the ground as he trots.

Rey squeals with joy when she sees him. “Oh my god!”

”Oh my god,” Ben says at the same time, but his words are tinged with horror. He steps away from her immediately, like he’s been burned.

”R2? Where are -” An older man steps out from one of the rooms and stops the moment he sees them. “Oh! Ben.”

”Hi, Uncle Luke,” Ben mumbles weakly.

”Ben’s here?” another voice calls, and Rey watches as Ben’s face pales when another man steps out into the room.

”Dad?” he chokes out.

Han, as it turns out his name is, switched his flight to come in a day early. Uncle Luke has been in town for weeks.

”And mom knows about this?” Ben asks, rubbing his temples with both hands. He’s sitting down in a plush armchair that looks like it could be in some kind of bougie interior design magazine, while Rey watches uncomfortably on, standing a few feet away from him.

Han smiles. ”It was her idea. After you missed the bus, she wanted us to surprise you. Thought we could all catch up before tomorrow, when there won’t be any time.”

"Of course she implanted the idea." Ben scowls. “Leia Organa will be our first female president, fine, but she will also be the first female president who is _assassinated_ because she is a crazy, meddling stereotype of a Jewish mother.”

”Hey, watch the language,” Luke yells while Han shouts, “That’s my wife you’re talking about!”

”This is objectively crazy! These are the actions of a crazy person! All she had to do was warn me -”

”Ben -“ Luke interjects.

”And where the fuck have you been, by the way?” he continues, turning to Han. “I have to twist your arm to get you to come on the trail but you have enough time to play catch up with Luke?”

Han shrugs, seeming a little shamed. But, Rey notes, only a little. “Sorry, kid. My schedule opened up and I switched to an earlier flight.”

Ben groans, dropping his head in his hands.

Rey shifts on her feet. “So I’m gonna go to the hotel, I think,” she says abruptly, her voice just slightly too loud for the size of the room. She takes a step toward the door, ready to leave him to his family drama.

There’s a chorus of protests from the two older men, but it’s Ben’s hand around her wrist that gives her pause. “Stay,” he says, just quiet enough that only she can hear it. His eyes are pleading.

She nods without a second thought, and Ben smiles, though it looks a little pained.

Han claps his hands together, grinning from ear to ear. “So drinks?”

Luke puts on The Grateful Dead and corrals Ben and Rey into sitting beside each other on the sofa, while he and Han take the two chairs on the other side of the coffee table. He mixes a screwdriver for Rey, and to Ben he hands a tumbler with two fingers of whisky.

"Neat," Ben reminds the older man, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Luke nods in acknowledgment as he hands it to his nephew, his eyes alight with amusement. "I don't know how you put up with him," he stage whispers to Rey.

"I get paid," she whispers in reply.

"I heard that," he says, lifting his head up at last. "Don't get her drunk, she hasn't eaten dinner yet, Uncle Luke."

"Neither have you," she reminds him.

"I'll heat up some leftovers," Ben decides. To the older two men, he says, "Please don't interrogate her."

"Interrogate? Us?" Han says, mock offended. The moment Ben leaves for the kitchen, Han faces Rey head on, his eyes intense. "How has he been? Is he a good boss? Does he seem depressed?"

"Oh - okay -"

"Han, leave her alone, she's just his assistant."

Han scoffs. "Not with the way he -"

"Han," Luke says again, his voice a warning. "Leave it."

"He's a good boss. He's a good -" She pauses, unsure how to continue. She feels her cheeks heating up, and she glances at the open doorway to the kitchen. "We work well together. He seems pretty - I don't know - happy."

Rey watches the two men exchanging a look. She takes a long drink, praying Ben hurries the fuck up.

She has no idea what she did in a past life to deserve such an uncomfortable situation.

"So where in England are you from?" Luke asks. "I don't know if Ben mentioned I've lived in the U.K. for years."

"He did mention it," she says between sips. "I don't think you would know it."

"Try me."

"Jakku."

Luke thinks on that for a moment. "Yeah, you were right, I don't know it."

After what feels like hours, Ben returns, a plate full of Indian food dropped in front of her on the coffee table. Rey digs in, and it's like she hadn't realized before just how hungry she was. He watches her eat with a mixture of fascination and disgust.

"I'm surprised at you, Ben," Han says, breaking the silence that had descended over them. "You're never late for anything, and yet you managed to miss the bus for your own job."

"It was my fault," Rey interrupts before Ben can reply. "I wanted to see my old building from before I moved to D.C., and Ben tagged along."

Luke raises his eyebrows while Han grins. Rey can see, suddenly, where Ben got his smile from. "Well, we ought to be thanking you," Han says, "for getting our boy to New York early. And, of course, it is lovely to meet Ben's...assistant."

"Dad." Ben is glaring at Han openly.

Rey finishes her drink, and Luke promptly takes the glass to refill it.

It's going to be a long night. 

After two more drinks, Rey is feeling _good_.

Once she settles into the situation, she finds that Han and Luke are funny - the way they swap stories, correct each other on details, interrupt and talk over one another. Once he finishes his first drink, Ben loosens up a bit, too, letting his body relax into the sofa, his arm draped across the back of it, behind her shoulders. He even manages a smile occasionally. 

She's at the point of drunkenness where everything is just a little bit off, and everything feels warm and happy. She's also, she thinks with all the clarity of her drunk brain, at the point where she wants to fuck somebody. She can tell she's looking over at Ben too often, but she can't stop herself. His dark eyes, his thick, wavy hair, and his lips - god, it's like they were made to kiss her. Or eat her out. Whatever works.

_You are sitting in a room with your boss, his dad, and his uncle,_ she reminds herself sternly.

_He's so hot though,_ another part of her whines in response.

_It's inappropriate._

_But what was that _thing_ earlier? With his hand on your waist?_

Rey crosses her legs and smiles when the men burst into laughter.

"Well, what do you think, Rey?" Han asks.

_Shit._ "Hmm?"

"Luke needs to turn off _American Beauty_, right?" Ben prompts her.

"Damn hippie music," Han adds.

"My name is on all the paperwork, this apartment is mine, and I can play whatever I please."

"Let your guest choose the music," Han argues. "Go ahead, darling, if you can manage to find anything in his records that sounds good when you're _not_ high."

Rey stands, a little shakily, and makes her way over to the turntable by the window. For a moment, she just looks out at the city, something swelling in her heart that's like contentment. She wonders if this is what it feels like. Feeling at home.

She tugs _The Dreaming_ out of its sleeve and slowly, carefully, sets the needle at the first song. After, Rey practically collapses on the sofa, noticing a moment too late that she's sitting much closer to Ben than before. Their thighs are nearly touching, his broad shoulders bumping into hers.

"Ah," Luke says brightly as Sat In Your Lap plays. "Kate Bush. Another Englishwoman like yourself. Ben's favorite song of hers was -"

"_Uncle Luke, please -_"

"- This Woman's Work. When he was five, Leia found him listening to it in this very room, crying his eyes out. What was he saying again, Han?"

"'It's just so beautiful,'" Han chokes out through his laughter. "Oh my god, I forgot about that."

"It's a sad song," Ben argues half-heartedly. His hand brushes the back of her neck as he adjusts his arm, and Rey squeezes her thighs together. _Fuck._ "I listened to it when Mom was out of town. Which was most of the t-"

"He used to write these long letters to her with his little calligraphy set," Luke continues. "I think she still has them somewhere."

"Really?" Ben seems happy at the thought. "She saved them?"

"Of course she did, kid," Han says. "We've only got one son, don't we?"

"Only child syndrome," Luke agrees, faux-solemn.

"He seems like an only child," Rey agrees.

"Watch out, Ben, I think you have a mutiny on your hands."

Rey laughs a little nervously. The room swims in front of her; _keep your eyes open,_ she reminds herself, _don't let yourself get dizzy_. Jesus, maybe she's drunker than she thought. "I just mean - He's very smart and very confident, like an only child."

"Do you have any siblings, Rey?"

"Dad," Ben says, his voice a warning.

She shakes her head. _Keep your eyes open, don't let yourself get -_ "No, I don't have a family."

The room gets very quiet very quickly. All she can hear is Kate Bush, singing _just when I think I'm king_.

"I mean -" she stammers, "I only mean - I was a foster child in England, and then I moved to America and - fuck, I'm not explaining it well. I mean - And now I said fuck in front of - Shit. Fuck. I think I need to go to bed."

Rey stands up and immediately sways on her feet. Ben's next to her a heartbeat later, holding her steady, one hand on her elbow. "I'll take you downstairs," he assures her quietly, "we'll get a cab back."

"I thought maybe you could stay here tonight, Ben? In your old room?" Han says, a note of worry edging into his voice. 

Ben sighs heavily. "Fine. I'll take a cab with Rey and then take it back here."

"That's too much money -"

"Dad, I can handle myself," he snaps. "Let me take my - Rey home."

Han raises his hands, palms face out in surrender. "Fine, fine. Just call when you're on your way back."

"Yeah, alright, old man." Ben steers her to the front door. The photograph of Padme Amidala twinkles at her accusingly. Rey stares back at the photo as Ben guides her into the hallway. 

"Your grandma was a total babe," she says once she hears the door close.

He cracks a smile. "I've heard."

In the colder air, Rey starts to sober up the tiniest bit. Which, as usual, is accompanied by a series of increasingly terrible revelations.

"Oh god," she moans in the cab, "I was so embarrassing. I'm still being embarrassing. Oh god."

Ben shakes his head. "You aren't being embarrassing."

"Yes, I am, and now it's embarrassing that you're telling me I'm not being embarrassing and you're my boss, oh god -"

"Stop calling me that," Ben mumbles, then says a bit louder, "I shouldn't have let Luke give you that much to drink, you were hungry and you were walking and bleeding most of the day and he always make his drinks strong -"

"I'm sorry I said all that stuff in front of your dad."

"No, you - No, Rey. Don't ever apologize for that. I shouldn't have -" He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I should've just let you sleep at the hotel."

She looks at him, and even drunk she can tell there is something about him in this moment. There is something sad and small. She thinks, suddenly, of Ben the way she saw him in that picture, sitting in front of the turntable listening to a song that made him miss his mother. "I wanted to go," she says. "I had fun hanging out with you and not working. I - "

She is going to regret saying this tomorrow.

But that's tomorrow, she figures.

"I like you, Ben." He just looks at her, his eyes wide and bright, his mouth half-opened in surprise. "I mean," she rushes to clarify, "I like _you_. You've got a good personality, buddy." She fake punches his arm.

Her inner voice is shrieking at her.

Before he can say a word, the taxi rolls to a stop outside the hotel, and Rey stumbles out as fast as she can, not wanting to hear his reply.

Jannah has just gotten into the room when Rey manages to make it back.

"I brought your suitcase up from the bus," she chirps. "Did you have fun with your few hours off? I mean, honestly, better you than me, if I had to hang out with Solo for that long, or even Amilyn or Poe, I think I'd die - wait, what's wrong, honey?"

Rey notices, a moment too late, that she's crying.

"I’m drunk," she wails, and runs to the bathroom to throw up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw u get cockblocked by ur dad and ur annoying uncle


	7. why don't you take the first bullet and put it in your brain

GO. Period. FUCK. Period. YOURSELF. Exclamation point!

** 7\. why don't you take the first bullet and put it in your brain**

Rey has had hangovers before.

In point of fact, her most recent one wasn't too long ago, after going out with Finn and Rose to one of the bars in D.C. that's frequented by lower level staffers from every part of the Hill. Rose had warned her not to match anybody shot for shot, a caution that Rey promptly threw to the wind.

"These staffers go hard," Rose shouted over the music. It was heavy metal, the kind that could peel the paint off the wall. "You can bet almost everybody in here has been threatened and verbally abused at least once today. Whatever you do, do _not_ try to keep up with them."

"Totally," Rey yelled in reply before throwing back a shot of tequila.

The next morning, she had done little more than lay in bed and moan, vowing to never drink like that again. "I will never have another hangover," she declared to Finn over the phone. "This is the last one."

It was not the last one.

"Rey? Honey?"

"No," she groans.

"Rey, you have to get up. I tried to let you sleep in a bit, but you need to be ready and in the lobby in a half hour. Amilyn is having both of us check over everything at the site before the rally."

Rey blinks her eyes painfully open, finally registering Jannah's worried expression. The other woman is perched beside Rey on the bed, already impeccably done up, her shock of curly dark hair haloing her head in the low light. "How much did I throw up last night?"

"Once," Jannah assures her, "but then you sobbed for about an hour about how you didn't want to throw up again."

"Oh god." She tugs the duvet over her head to hide her face. "Don't look at me."

Jannah just tears the covers back down. Apparently, Rey discerns, she had been too drunk to change out of her clothes. "Get up."

"We're not friends like that," Rey snaps loudly, trying to force the covers back over. "You don't need to give me tough love."

"We're not 'friends like that' because you're terrified of trying to be 'friends like that,'" Jannah replies evenly, an eyebrow coolly raised as she considers Rey. "Now go take the fastest shower of your life, use some mouthwash, wear some backless shoes because clearly you've fucked up your feet -" Jannah points to her shoes from the day before, abandoned on the carpet with blood staining the inside heel, "- and get your shit together. Because you've got a job to do."

Rey frowns, her lower lip wobbling.

"Do not cry again," Jannah warns. "Now, go."

She manages to pull herself together in fifteen minutes.

"That's my girl," Jannah says when she emerges from the bathroom, looking and smelling a little bit less like an empty bottle of vodka.

Rey attempts a smile. "Thank you," she mumbles, running a comb through her wet hair. "I'm sorry for what I said -"

Jannah waves her hand in dismissal. "It's forgotten."

Rey's smile widens. She turns to the mirror, leaning in close to examine the bags under her eyes, the wrinkles on her cheek from where her blankets pressed on her through the night. She wonders if her drugstore concealer will work to cover them well enough.

"But," Jannah continues behind her, "you're not getting off that easy."

Rey halts as she reaches for a makeup bag. It's only a second, but it's enough. "What are you talking about?" she says as casually as she can.

"I'm talking about you leaving yesterday with Ben Solo and coming back drunk off your ass." Jannah meets her eyes in the mirror, and Rey dabs a bit of color on her lips, trying not to give anything away in her expression.

It doesn't seem to work.

"He said he needed to get something for his mother from her apartment," she lies smoothly. "We ran into the senator's husband and brother there, they insisted I join them for drinks, I had a little too much. End of story."

"Solo didn't try to put the moves on you?"

Dread drops heavy in the pit of her stomach. "Does he do that often?" Rey asks, barely attempting to keep her voice neutral.

Jannah cocks her head. "It's impossible to keep secrets like that in D.C. when you're that high-profile, and I haven't heard anything from anyone. So probably not." Rey rolls her shoulders back and strokes a layer of mascara on her lashes. "But that doesn't mean he wouldn't."

"I guess not." She shrugs as casually as she can, twisting the tube of mascara back together. "He didn't try to put the moves on me, since you asked." Rey realizes, terribly, that she can't tell if she's lying or not.

Jannah looks over her suspiciously, but she only nods her head in thought. "Okay."

"Okay."

"Can I give you a bit of advice, though?" Jannah doesn't wait for Rey to answer before she goes on. "It took me a long time to get the senior assistant position with Amilyn. It's my ticket to something bigger; it's the kind of job that can do a lot or a little for you depending on how you use it. The minute Solo came on the staff, you got promoted. You should really think about why that was, and why he keeps you so close. And you should think about what people see when something like that happens." Jannah takes a seat on edge of the bed and stoops, tugging on her kitten heels and yanking the strap of her purse over her shoulder. "You don't want to be the girl who got promoted because she was fucking the boss."

Rey stammers, "I'm not - I wouldn't - _he_ wouldn't -"

"That doesn't even matter, Rey. Do it, don't do it: that's not relevant. What matters is what people think. And, if I were you, I'd be aiming my sights a little higher than that."

Rey's mouth is dry. "Than what?"

Jannah holds her gaze steadily. "Than upper middle," she says.

"And is this -" Rey takes a deep breath, steeling herself. "Is this something people have been saying about me?"

"Not yet. But they might." Jannah holds Rey's purse out to her. Rey takes it warily, searching her expression for some sign of judgment. She finds none. "Now, come on. We're going to be late."

The first week after Ben started, Rey wanted to kill him at least three times a day.

The reason it was so easy for him to change sides, she discovered quickly, was because he didn't give a shit about sides in the first place. He didn't care about any of the issues his mother did or, seemingly, about much of anything at all; if she had to guess, Rey would bet he wasn't even registered to vote. 

"You know what caused his nervous breakdown, don't you," Finn whispered once to her, after a particularly grueling day. He was standing by her desk, his eyes flickering around as if to make sure no one would overhear them. "Snoke fired him. He didn't resign. He was _ousted_."

"That's a word you've been waiting to use," Rey said as she typed. "Ousted."

"Anyway, you know I used to intern for Phasma's office in school -"

"The monstress, yes."

"Well, a guy who still works there with told me all about it. Said you could hear the screaming from the Oval Office."

Rey sighed, once again deleting the sentence she'd been trying to nail for five minutes. "Then I guess we have Snoke to blame for making him our problem."

"Yeah, and for ruining America."

"That too," she said absently.

The morning is hellish. Rey spends a majority of her time at the rally site arguing with the teleprompter guy, trying to convince him to switch out the speeches last minute according to Poe's specifications. The rest of her time is devoted to tidying up red, white, and blue balloons, red, white, and blue garlands, and making sure that chairs are positioned correctly (surprisingly enough, those are just black). Jannah, if anything, seems to be having an even worse time of it than Rey, as she keeps having to pause her work to field calls from donors demanding a chance to meet Leia one on one.

By the time ten o'clock rolls around, Rey is ready for the day to be over. For New York to be over, and New England, and the east coast, and America, for that matter. She lugs a step-stool to the podium, wiping the sweat off her forehead and cursing the venue's current absence of air conditioning, and that, of course, is when the senator strolls onto the stage.

"Han," Leia announces, "come here, you need to see where you're going to be."

Han climbs the steps leading up to the stage with a little difficulty, dutifully joining his wife where she points out he will be standing, silently smiling, silently supportive. "And I don't get to talk, of course," Han says, grinning.

"If women have been able to put aside their egos and be quiet for millennia, I'm sure you can handle it for a few weeks," Leia teases, lightly smacking Han on the shoulder. "Oh, Rey! There you are! We missed you in New Jersey."

Her hands clench into fists, nervousness clenching her stomach tight. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Well, she had a great time with the Solo boys, so she didn't miss out on much," Han jokes. "My son get you home okay? He treat you well?"

Rey can't help but smile at the kindness in his eyes. "A perfect gentleman," she says.

"Don't go spreading that around," he mock whispers. "Ben is the son of a scoundrel, don't let him make you think otherwise."

"He comes from a long line of scoundrels," Leia adds, stepping up to the podium. "Rey, dear, go tell the lighting tech he needs to adjust the angle he has for that big light. I can't see the teleprompter with the way it is now."

Rey's smile freezes on her face. "Absolutely, ma'am." She turns on her heel and rushes down the other set of stairs, ready to go fix yet another problem, and manages to almost crash directly into Ben on the bottom step.

"Oh," she exclaims at the same time that he says, "Rey." She doesn't know if she can take her eyes off him; she doesn't know that she wants to. She thinks of Jannah's voice, _you don't want to be the girl who got promoted because she was fucking the boss._ "My apologies, I didn't see you there."

"Don't know how you didn't, kid's the size of a sasquatch," Han calls from behind her.

"Rey," Ben repeats. His mouth softens into something close to a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she replies quietly. "How are you?"

"Good." For a minute, he just looks at her. Standing taller on one of the steps, Rey is the same height as him. Ben shifts, tucking his hands in his pockets. "Look, about -"

"Ben," Leia calls, "you better come up here before I send out a search party."

He sighs heavily, looking so much like a teenager for a moment that Rey almost giggles. "Go ahead," he says, stepping to the side to let her pass.

Which, of course, is exactly when she moves to the same side, putting her right back in front of him again. She actually does laugh at that, ready to move back and walk past him, when Ben brings his hand to her waist, tugging her over himself. He climbs onto the same stair as Rey, murmuring gently in her ear, "I am not doing that whole dance, sweetheart."

He walks up the stairs without another word, leaving Rey slightly dazed in his wake.

She needs to listen to Jannah, she decides during her argument with the light tech. She needs to stop doing whatever it is she's doing with Ben, whatever whole dance, whatever lame attempt at flirting she's been making. The whole thing, she figures, needs to end.

Rey wishes she even believed that.

The speech goes off without a hitch. Han and Ben stand together, the latter towering over the former, and wave with vague enthusiasm to the crowd. 

Rey can hear Poe whispering parts of the speech as Leia reads; he seems beside himself with joy each and every time the crowd reacts. He leans in close to her, whispering with excitement, “The home state is usually pretty easy to write for, but she is absolutely _killing it_.”

”It’s amazing,” Rey agrees, and Poe’s smile widens even more.

”Thanks, Jackson,” he replies.

Rey turns her attention back to the stage, her eyes now and again drifting to Ben. He’s...nervous. Anxious, she recognizes, at the number of eyes on him. Rey can see the way he keeps adjusting his posture, how his hands keep clenching into fists and relaxing open again. Rey wonders, for the first time, if he’d so studiously avoided joining his mother’s campaign in any visible way to escape the attention.

He seems almost too large for the stage, and clearly too large his family; when Leia goes to him for a hug, he seems to completely engulf her. By the time the senator finally announces _God Bless New York_ and _God Bless America_, Rey can see the sag of relief in his shoulders when he finally gets to leave. He strides quickly down the stairs, walking toward the staff.

Rey opens her mouth as he nears her, ready to tell him good job, or maybe something a little bit less cliched than that, but Ben keeps going right past her, through the crowd of the campaign and out of the emergency doors.

Rey looks around, trying to determine what the faces of her coworkers reveal, trying to see if anyone is judging Ben for his quick exit, but everyone is focused Leia and Han as they greet and thank the team. No one, she realizes, even noticed that he’d left.

After congratulating Leia on her speech, after reassuring Poe of its power and perfection, after giving the standard "no comment" comment to Hux, Rey finally makes her way outside to check on the one person she’d actually wanted to see.

She finds him smoking by the door, leaning against the brick wall like a high schooler playing hooky behind the bleachers.

Ben doesn’t seem that surprised to see her. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke curl out from between his lips, settling around his head like smog.

Rey can’t help herself. She remembers Unkar Plutt, her last foster father, the piles of ash spilling from every flat surface in his house. ”That’s a bad habit,” she tells him.

His hand opens up at his side, his whole body shrugged as if to say _what are you gonna do_. “It’s not a regular thing. Just when I need to - calm down.” He inhales another lungful of smoke, his eyes trained on her.

She crosses her arms over her chest, the corners of her lips turning up as she regards him. ”You were great up there.”

He says, the words stilted and bitter, “I didn’t do anything up there.”

”You were still great.”

”Oh, I’m sure. I can see the op-eds now analyzing every twitch, every slight movement, every single breath I take to prove I’m still on the side of evil. A secret double agent for the GOP.”

Rey doesn’t rise to the bait. She teases, ”Are you?”

”I’m not on the side of anybody but my own.”

”Is that so?”

”Party of one.”

She looks at Ben, the way his shoulders are hunched in, his head lowered. “_I’m_ on your side.”

He laughs, but it’s mean, harsh and cruel. The sound makes Rey's body go cold, makes it feel like her heart has turned to lead and tumbled down her insides. “The things money can buy.”

She blinks. “That wasn’t called for," she forces out.

”It’s true, though, isn’t it. You’re here because you’re getting paid, there’s no shame in it. Just don’t pretend like you’re doing this for my sake.”

”If I was only here because I’m getting paid, I would have stayed inside with everyone else, people who _care_ about me, and I would've left you out here to wallow by yourself.”

”You think those people give a shit about you, Rey? Dameron? Holdo? My mother?” He stamps out his cigarette under his heel, stepping close enough to her that Rey can see every mole, every freckle, and the constellations they make across his features. That she can hear the anger in his voice. “This is what D.C. does, it turns you into a liar. Into someone who believes in those lies. It chews you up and spits you out and it doesn’t give a fuck what happens to you afterward. There is not one person in there who gives a shit about you beyond what you can do for them.”

She can feel her eyes pricking with heat, her cheeks growing warm. ”That’s not true -“

”It is.” He takes a shuddering breath in. “It is, and the worst part of it all is that you don’t even care. You just want to be wanted.”

Rey blinks back tears, hating the way she can feel her chin wobble, hating how her voice cracks as she says, “That’s what you really think of me?”

Ben is silent for a moment, watching her. Something changes in his expression, just slightly, but Rey can hardly tell for the way he blurs before her eyes. He shakes his head. “No.”

”You think I’m just a silly little thing, you think I’m ridiculous for trying to make something of myself -“

”No, Rey, that’s not what I -“

”You think I’m nothing,” she continues.

He shakes his head. “No. You're not. Not to me.”

”But to everybody else.” She steps back, and Ben steps forward, as if they are connected by a string. As if, were she to turn and run, he'd be pulled along behind her, tethered to her like an astronaut to the shuttle. She takes another step away, trying to break the connection, and again, he follows her. "You think I'm nothing -"

”No, I shouldn’t have -" He groans in frustration, moving closer to her as he speaks. She can't tell if it's intentional, the way he's using his height as a weapon against her, the way he's blocking her view of everything but him. His eyes are fervent and full of something Rey thinks she could call desperation. Or loneliness. He reaches for her arm, and Rey tugs it out of his reach, gripping the doorknob behind her. "I’ll go inside, I’ll smile and I’ll wave, just - Please forget about what I said. Would you?”

Rey clenches her jaw, hearing her teeth grinding in her head. ”You know what? Fuck you, Ben." She turns the handle with a brutal twist of her hand, letting the connection between them snap in two as she leaves him. "Enjoy your cigarettes."

As she walks back inside, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Rey hopes uselessly that, in the dark, no one will be able to see her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's loving jannah hours in this chili's tonight bc that girl is right! rey pull urself together!!


	8. you have put this entire office into a salad spinner of fuck

I'm almost crying. I didn't know I could still almost do that.

** 8\. you have put this entire office into a salad spinner of fuck**

She hates the city. She's decided.

It's a dismal realization, one that comes to her between sitting in traffic in Manhattan and traffic in Brooklyn and traffic in Queens and traffic in the Bronx, bouncing from event to event to event.

As a child, she used to think the reason for her loneliness was due to lack of opportunity, that if she could just find bigger crowds, more space, then she'd find her people, her family.

It's a disappointing realization that even in a place with eight million bodies, she still feels alone.

They only have to spend one more day in New York, but it already feels like an eternity.

Hux finds her at the coffeeshop in the lobby of the hotel.

"Armitage, you know my answer is the same as ever," Rey begins, stirring way too much cream and sugar into her drink, "if Mr. Solo has something to say, he will contact you direct-"

Her sentence meets an abrupt end the moment she turns and sees his face. He looks downright gleeful.

"You remember the article I mentioned that was supposed to be published in Huffington Post? The one about Leia Organa's family life?"

Rey feels anticipatory dread flood through her body. "Yes?"

Hux grins momentarily, the smile of a shark. "It's been published. And picked up by Fox. And picked up once again by CNN. And soon to be picked up by yours truly. Would Ben Solo care to comment?"

Rey steps into the bus in the morning to find that no one is talking. Every single person is on their phone or laptop, the blue light of their screens bathing their faces an unsettling off white. She can't see Ben anywhere.

"It's...damning," Poe murmurs, his eyes flickering back and forth as he reads.

"Oh, please," Amilyn says, but there's an edge of concern in her voice that betrays her, "if the senator were a man this would never have been published."

"But she's not a man, and it's been published, and it's damning."

"Did anyone from the campaign give them a comment, Poe?"

"It says here Solo declined to comment, he probably never even listened to what the article was about -"

"You're supposed to fucking know this ahead of time, you're the point man -"

"I can't know things ahead of time if _no one tells me anything_, Amilyn -"

"Fucking shit," Amilyn hisses, and then lifts her head to address the entire bus. "Listen up: if you are at all important, you need to meet me in Leia's suite. If you have a question about whether or not you are important then I am telling you now that you fucking aren't. Jannah, I need you to start calling everyone you can and pushing everything back by thirty minutes at least. Try for an hour."

"Yes, ma'am," Jannah says, her phone already pressed against her ear. "Yes, sir, I need to speak with -"

Rey watches Amilyn as she works, giving each and every staffer a specific task with measurable goals, watching each of them nod fiercely and immediately set about accomplishing those goals. She realizes, suddenly, why the older woman is in charge.

"Rey." Amilyn strides toward her, her eyes ablaze with determination. "You need to go to Ben's room."

She feels, for a second, like she's choking on nothing. "What?" she manages.

"He's never late for anything, so I know he's already read the profile and is confining himself like some kind of temperamental hermit. You need to get him to come to the suite so we can talk him through what our line is going to be. You need to get him there as quickly as possible, and you need to get him there calmly. He is not going to respond well if I go up there, so I'm sending you."

"What makes you think he'll respond well to me?"

"I don't," Amilyn says brusquely, as dismissive as if Rey had asked what the weather might be like on Mars. "But he thinks you're a good assistant and he won't risk a lawsuit, so there's a better chance he won't throw anything at you. That's a big step up from what will happen otherwise. Room 514. You need to get him to the suite on the seventh floor, room number is 703. Say you have that."

"Room 514, he needs to go to 703."

"Perfect. Now go. And, Rey -" Amilyn meets her eyes pointedly, her voice careful and measured. "Read as much of the article as you can before you get there. With Ben, you never want to go in blind."

As she walks off the bus and back into the hotel, Rey can't help but think that that's all she's ever done with Ben: go in blind. With shaking hands, she tugs her phone free from her coat pocket and searches. 

It takes her two tries before she is able to knock on his door.

The response is immediate. "Fuck off!"

"Ben." She hesitates, twisting the charm on her necklace back and forth. "It's me. Can I come in, please?"

She stands in front of the door for an entire minute. Waiting. Her breath caught in her chest.

When the door finally opens, she can see instantly why Amilyn didn't want to handle this one herself. The room is a disaster zone: the sheets torn off the bed, the paintings on the wall ripped down their middles, a nightstand overturned, its contents spilled over the floor like a pool of blood. Ben is standing in the middle of it, his chest heaving.

She reacts before she can stop herself. "What the fuck, Ben?"

"I'm paying for it," he snarls. "I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"Not in this campaign you can't. What if a maid takes a picture and leaks it to the press?"

"So what? More bad press for Leia _Organa_ because of her fuck-up son?"

"I never called you a fuck-up."

"You didn't need to. It's all over your face."

"I don't think you're a fuck-up, Ben," she says, and she is suddenly so tired, she is suddenly exhausted right down to her bones. She imagines, for a brief moment, how tired Leia must have been. "But you can't go around throwing temper tantrums and destroying private property when you're upset."

"Didn't you read the article, Rey? That's all I've ever done."

"Ben -"

"_A former staff member of the Jedi Academy commented that she'd, in fact, never once seen Leia Organa at the prestigious boarding_ _school,_" Ben holds his phone aloft as he reads, his voice hoarse, ruined. "_In the year leading up to Ben Solo's expulsion, Ms. Organa routinely rescheduled meetings to discuss her son's social-emotional needs, arrived anywhere from one to three hours late after being called, or simply sent her husband, described by neighbors and former employees as a 'hands-off' father, in her stead._"

"Ben, stop -"

"What's your favorite part? The ending?" Rey watches helplessly as he continues, his eyes bright and bordering on manic, his volume increasing with every word he recites. As if he is regressing right back to that angry child, slipping back into his old skin. "_Former classmates at both the Jedi Academy and First Order School were quick to note Solo's ferocious temper and cutting words when recalling their acquaintance. However, teachers and staff paint a different picture, one of parental neglect and even, according to one anonymous source, abandonment. When they were asked to give a picture of Ben Solo, they each, in turn, described variations of the same, brutal image: a boy sitting alone with a bloody nose, waiting for his mother to walk through the door. _What's wrong, Rey? You don't like hearing about your hero like this? Did you like the part about how she changed her last name before she ran for office, how she wanted to rid herself of the _legacy of shame _my grandfather brought the Skywalker name? Do you know how many times they told me I was just like him?"

She shakes her head. When she speaks, there is something in her that holds her back from screaming back at him, from running away the way every muscle in her body is aching to do. Her voice is slow, steady. "You're not hurting me," she says, taking a step closer to him, as cautious in her approach as if he were a wounded animal baring his teeth. "Just yourself."

"Tell me something I don't fucking know," he shouts, his pitch rising, "_of course_ I'm only hurting myself!"

His words startle her into pausing, watching him. "Then stop," she commands, trying to force more confidence in her voice than she feels. "You're not a child anymore. This isn't you."

"Yes, it is," he spits out, but his tone isn't angry the way he'd tried to make it - only miserable. She thinks of words she can't remember reading:_ I am alone and miserable_. She thinks of ash spilling out of the corners of her house, whichever house, every house. 

"Put your phone down, Ben. Sit and listen to me." She waits until he sits, hesitant, his whole being shaking with restrained fury, on the edge of the bed. She waits until he looks up at her, waits until she's sure she holds his attention. "Forget about everything else. Forget about the campaign, forget about your parents, forget about everything outside of this room. Focus on me."

"I -" His breath rattles as he inhales, gulps in air like it's water. "I can't -"

"You can," she insists, edging closer to where he sits. "You already are. See?"

"I need - I want to -" Ben keeps searching the room, as if he were looking for a threat, something to protect himself from. "Everyone knows everything about me now and I -"

"They don't. They don't know anything." She keeps moving: one foot, then another, until she's standing in front of him. "It's part of you. It isn't you."

Without a word, he stretches his hands out, hooks them around the small of her back, and tugs her to him. Rey stumbles into him, her hands hovering above his shoulders as he buries his face into her stomach. For a while, they remain there, still and quiet as stone. As a frozen lake in winter.

"I want to go home," he eventually mumbles around the fabric of her blouse.

She wonders how many times he's said that before. She wonders why he clings to her so when she can still hear his words echoing in her ears: _you just want to be wanted_. She can feel her heart in her throat, and she worries, for a moment, that it might leap out from between her teeth and leave her empty.

Rey doesn't know what to do with her hands. They linger, for a moment, around the wild nest of his hair until, finally, she threads her fingers through it. The moment she does, Ben seems to relax more, tension slipping off his shoulders. _You think those people give a shit about you, Rey?_ "You have a job to do first," she says. "We both do."

"I don't want to go back up there." The sentence is a trembling, wavering thing.

"You have to," she murmurs, running her nails across his scalp. He shivers, his grip tightening around her waist. His hands are so large around her back, his hold on her so strong, that she can already tell the shirt will wrinkle. Rey blinks, trying to hold back the tears that are beginning to prickle at her eyes, trying to ignore his voice in her head telling her how little she means. "I can help you, but I can't do it for you."

He ignores that for a long moment; he simply breathes into her body, clutches her against him while she continues to trace soothing patterns through his hair. Finally, he lets her go and stands back up, his movements slow, as if he were trapped in amber.

For a while, he just stares at her. Rey shifts on her heels, unsure of how to continue, unsure of how to get him from Point A to Point B.

"You're crying," he says quietly.

Rey gapes. "No, I'm - I'm not."

"I hurt you. Yesterday, I hurt you when I said all those things."

"That doesn't matter," she says, and even she can hear how strained the words are. "We need to focus on next steps. Amilyn said you need to go to room -"

"I didn't mean any of it," he breathes out in a rush. "I was - awful and you're - you're the last person I wanted to hurt."

"But I'm still on the list," she jokes flatly.

"Why did you come up here? Why would you help me after - after I did that?"

She looks at him blankly. "Because it's my job."

He stares back at her, something in his expression crumpling, collapsing like a burning building, and she will not weep. She will not. Because, she knows, if she does, she will forgive him, and he will do nothing with it but use it to hurt her all over again. "Rey, I -"

"Room 703," she interrupts, straightening her back. "Your mother is going to tell you the line, and today you will stand with her and say whatever they want you to say and you will help your mother win this election. Say you understand that."

He watches her, his jaw tightening. "I understand."

She leaves the room as fast as she can. The moment the door clicks shut, she lets her head fall into her hands.

When Rey met her parents, for the first and last time, she went expecting to forgive them. Expecting to find her home.

Instead, when they sobbed, when they screamed, when they insisted they were doing right by her, she felt nothing but anger.

Amilyn thanks her for wrangling Ben that night, at their last event in New York. Leia is onstage, being strategically honest, reiterating her love for her husband and son. Ben stands beside her, and Rey can't see a single tell of his, not a single flinch.

"You're like our own personal Solo whisperer," Amilyn mutters softly. "I knew I hired you for a reason."

Rey smiles as wide as she can. "Thank you."

"What did you say to him? He seems like he's actually doing well. The last-minute phone interviews all went shockingly smooth."

"I just -" She takes a breath, trying to center herself, trying to ignore the relentless noise. Trying to feel alone. "I just listened to him."

"Well, whatever you did, it worked. You know half of politics is just dealing with emotionally-stunted men."

"That's what I've been discovering," Rey replies, her gaze sliding again toward Ben like a magnet.

He doesn't glance in her direction. He lifts his arm to the roaring crowd, smiles, and waves.

The drive to Vermont that night is quieter than usual. Rey can't even hear the steady, rhythmic, ever-present click of keyboards. The people on the staff who aren't sleeping upright, heads tilted at uncomfortable angles, are staring out of the window, occasionally whispering a few words to each other.

Ben is awake, on the other side of the aisle. She can't see him, but she knows he's there. She can feel his presence in the silence and the dark as if she were lying next to him in bed; there is a warmth and a weight to him that she can't ignore. She wonders if he thinks the same thing of her, and then casts aside the idea. _Maybe he does care_, a soft, unsinkable part of her whispers, and, for a moment, she almost lets herself believe it.

Rey sits by herself, her eyes trained on the black shadows of trees blurring past them. She doesn't turn her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES OKAY MAYBE REPUTABLE PUBLICATIONS WOULDNT PUBLISH A SLAM PIECE ON LEIA RIGHT BEFORE AN ELECTION but pls suspend ur disbelief for the drama of it all


	9. there's a fine line between hate and non-hate

Hello. What do you want? You can't have it. Goodbye.

** 9\. there's a fine line between hate and non-hate  
**

New England is like a long dream she can't seem to wake from.

As they pass through Maine, Rey tells Jannah that she finally understands and appreciates the inherent horror of every Stephen King novel.

"It's the gray," she theorizes on the bus as she checks an email for spelling errors. "It makes you feel like something is hiding under your feet or waiting around the corner to, like, eat you."

"Hmm."

"Have you read _The Mist_? Or seen the movie? I highly recommend it, it's completely batshit." Rey clicks send on her email, shimmying deeper into her seat as she closes her laptop.

"Nah."

"Oh, it's amazing, there's this scene at the end -"

"Rey," Jannah interrupts, finally lifting her head from her phone. "You are a lovely person and we can definitely get drinks later tonight but I am busy at the moment. Go bother someone else with your thoughts about Stephen King."

Rey blinks. "Oh. Sorry."

Jannah's expression softens. "It's alright. I just have a lot of work to do. But drinks later?"

"Sure," she replies, her voice cheerful and bright. "I'll let you work."

She waits until Jannah looks back down at her phone, typing rapidly. She turns her attention back to the gray landscape, letting it wash over her, letting herself get lost in it, imagining what might be lurking around the bend of the road, desperate to swallow her whole.

For whatever reason, they both agree not to talk about it. Rey sends his emails, responds to reporters, makes phone calls. Ben doesn't ask anything more of her than that.

In New Hampshire, at a donors' event, Rey has to straighten his tie, tugging it tight around his collar. Her hands don't linger; he doesn't look down at her with _something_ in his eyes, something that makes her feel completely new, completely different.

"Rey," he says softly when she's finished with her work.

She looks up at him. "Yes?"

But he doesn't anything but a quiet, "Thank you."

When he isn't with Leia or Han, when they're not pulling him on stage or posing with him for a photo op, he's alone. It makes something in her ache, like she is recognizing something in him. Like she's just noticing that they are the same.

She keeps rereading the article and, when she's finally exhausted that, she starts looking up other profiles, things with titles like _The Terror of the Hill_ or _The Right Hand Man_ or _The 21st Century Turncoat_. There are pages on Reddit devoting to uncovering the Zionist takeover of America, with crude swastikas poorly superimposed over Ben's chest in each picture. There is, she discovers embarrassingly, an entire website that seems to be dedicated exclusively to how hot he is, people with usernames like RawMeSolo and Daddy_Ben lining each photograph with commentary fit to make a stripper blush. On the other end of the spectrum, there are comments in almost every article that she can find about him, political or otherwise, that wax poetic about how he's not at all attractive, actually, how he has a nose the size of Alaska, how he is too tall (_impossible_, Rey thinks before she can stop herself), how he keeps his hair long to hide his stupid ears, how he's on the side of evil and always has been, how he's a traitor to his mother and father, how _I would've given anything to have the opportunity to go to a boarding school like Jedi and he THREW IT AWAY just like he threw away his own family #SNOKE4PREZ_.

After a while, Rey can't keep reading: for any scrap of respect or thought, there's more of hatred behind it than she knows what to do with.

She wonders, for the first time, just how much of it Ben sees.

Going into Massachusetts, Poe announces to the group that he will exclusively refer to Boston as Harvard-Adjacent. It's a good enough joke, and it lightens the mood on the bus. Rey decides she won't look over at Ben to see his reaction, or lack thereof.

At the hotel, as they unload their suitcases, Rey realizes that hers is trapped underneath several others. She groans in irritation, looking around to see if anybody near her seems to own the unidentified luggage. She sees a group of staffers standing together chatting, completely ignoring the need to unload the bus. She frowns, annoyed.

For a long while, she pulls and pulls and still can't jostle it loose. She is about to start unloading four or five suitcases just to get at hers when, behind her, Ben groans. He nudges her out of the way, seizes the handle, and hauls out her suitcase in one jerk of his arm.

She furrows her brow at him as he sets the bag in front of her. "I had that," she says, a little petulant. 

His mouth twitches, like he's trying to keep from smiling. It disappears the next instant. "It was torture watching you work your way through that problem."

"You don't know how much Jenga I played as a child. At most, that was a minor setback."

"You know, most people say thank you when someone does them a favor."

"Well, if someone does me a favor, I'll be sure to thank them."

"You -" He pauses, seeming to struggle with something. Rey watches him unabashedly, and there's a part of her that is thrilled at this - at the opportunity to look at him openly, at the chance to talk about anything other than work. She buries it as neatly as she can. "You make it extremely difficult to do anything nice for you."

Rey folds her arms across her chest, cocking her hip. She ignores the way Ben's eyes flicker down to her breasts because that is an entirely different can of an entirely different set of worms that she really doesn't need spilling all over a parking lot in Boston. "I could say the same about you," she snarks.

Ben is quiet for a moment, his eyes running back and forth over her features, up and down the length of her body, and it's obscene. Doesn't he know there are people around? Rey wants to hide her face, she wants to bask in the attention, she wants to scream at him for what he said to her, she wants -

She doesn't know what she wants.

"You ever been to Boston?" he asks.

"You mean Harvard-Adjacent? No. I haven't been anywhere."

Ben manages a smile at that, and Rey feels that same thrill again which is - ridiculous of her."That's not true anymore."

"No. It's not." Rey realizes, belatedly, that they haven't moved, that around them the staff has already collected their suitcases, that they are still in front of each other in a quickly emptying parking lot. She grabs her suitcase, ready to roll it toward the hotel, when her hand connects with Ben's, his fingers already curled around the handle.

She pulls away like she's been burned.

"Let me," he murmurs. Before she can open her mouth to reply, Ben is walking away, her luggage and his in tow.

Rey has to jog to catch up. Not for the first time, she curses his long legs. "I can do that myself, you know."

"I know," he says.

"So let me do it myself."

"Too late, you weren't paying attention and now I'm doing it for you. What floor?" Rey glances around, realizing just a second too late that they've somehow entered the lift without her noticing. _Alone,_ a small part of her whispers, and Rey ignores it. _Don't forget the things he said to you, _she reminds herself again.

"Um." He's standing closer to her than he needs to, she's pretty sure. She thinks, idly, that there is this space where his shirt collar is never quite buttoned correctly; she's constantly having to point it out to him and even, once, buttoning it for him. It's unbuttoned now. She knows she's been staring at his neck for too long when she replies, "Jannah said 6."

The corners of his lips turn up, just slightly. "Me too."

While they wait, Rey watching the screen by the door of the lift as it ticks agonizingly slow from one number to the next, she is acutely aware of how close he is. When the number changes to 4, Ben clears his throat.

"I wanted to -" he starts. Rey turns to look at him; it seems like he is fighting something in his own head. When he continues, the words are strung together awkwardly, like he is second guessing every single syllable. "You have been a very - good coworker. And."

She raises an eyebrow. She waits longer than she usually would. "And?"

Ben looks at her, his face a mask. He shrugs. "And nothing. I just wanted to tell you."

The lift grinds to a halt, and the doors slide open. Ben gestures for Rey to walk out first, and she does, her own footsteps echoing loud in her ears on the tile.

She focuses on finding her room, trying to ignore the way she can feel Ben following her, the way his steps are just a bit too loud in the quiet of the hallway. On the walls, there are paintings that can't seem to fit a theme - landscapes, abstracted shapes, portraits, still lives, black and white, overly colorful. It's dizzying. By the time she finds her room, Rey feels slightly intoxicated. From what, she can't say.

Across the hallway, Ben stops too, wrestling with his inside jacket pocket for his keycard, his suitcase abandoned by the wall.

Rey doesn't remember if they've ever had rooms that close to each others in any of the other hotels. She can't think of one.

"Fucking shit," Ben mutters, angry. Rey blinks back to reality, registering that she's just been looking at him for a minute. He seems to be fighting to work the card correctly; each time he shoves it into the slot, the doorknob beeps an angry red and remains stubbornly locked. "Fuck this god damn fucking shitty piece of plastic."

Rey finally reacts, letting out her breath in a huff, rolling her eyes. She crosses the hallway to Ben and gently pushes him away, slipping the keycard from his hand. She slides it calmly in the lock, watching with satisfaction as it dings happily and turns green. She turns the handle and open the door, motioning for him to go inside.

Ben is watching her, mild surprise on his face. "I had that," he says after a long moment.

"It was torture, watching you try to solve that problem," she replies, and, fuck, that could be construed as flirting, couldn't it? His expression shifts from repressed amusement to something darker; something she will not call desire unfurls in the pit of her stomach.

Ben walks toward her, and Rey can tell at once that she made an error - there's hardly any room in the arch of the doorway to fit just him, let alone both of them. She presses herself further back against the door as he looks at her, feeling a little like a mouse trapped in the thrall of a snake. _Don't forget what he said,_ a small part of her pipes up, but she's too dazed to recall what it is she's trying not to forget him saying.

He reaches out and pushes the door open wider, holding her gaze. "And," he says.

It takes her a moment to make the connection. Rey gulps, clutching her fingers tighter around the doorknob. "And?"

His eyes roam across her face, run over her collarbones, linger at her mouth. When he meets her eyes again, he looks so young. "And I miss - talking to you."

Her mind goes blank. What was she thinking of before? _You're supposed to remember something._ "I, um."

His hand on the door inches down slowly, until he closes it around her hand on the knob. He edges closer to her, his eyes dropping again to her lips. "You?"

There are a fuck-ton of reasons why it's a bad idea. But Rey can't think of any of them. "Ben -"

"Rey?"

She jolts, immediately retracting her hand away from his. Jannah is standing a few feet away, looking on with confusion written heavy over her face. 

Rey is dimly aware of Ben stepping away from her, listening to the way his breath shudders through his throat. "I - I have to go," she hears herself say, and she walks away from both of them without a glance behind her.

She hears Jannah come back into the room before she sees her. Rey clutches the covers to her chin, hoping, like a child, that it will be enough to keep her hidden.

It isn't.

"How long has this been going on?" Jannah asks. Her tone is soft, almost gentle.

"It hasn't been," Rey croaks out.

"Don't lie."

"I'm not," she says, and her voice sounds strange. She feels like she's hearing her own words echoing from somewhere across the room. "Nothing has happened."

Rey hears Jannah sigh heavily, shifting her weight on the mattress. "But you want it to."

She doesn't reply. There's no reason to.

"This isn't the right way to do it, Rey. This isn't the way to advance your -"

"It's not about my career," she interrupts, sitting up abruptly. Jannah watches her, shocked, as she continues, "I don't know what it is, I don't know why, but I have this feeling like - like he could be -"

"You're in love with him."

"What?" Rey feels her cheeks heat up, shakes her head as vigorously as she can. "No. I'm not. He's -" _Ridiculous. Loud. Impatient. Angry. Contradictory. Foolish. Overprotective. Sweet. _"I don't love him."

"He loves you," Jannah says casually, almost conversationally. Rey's heart stops beating. "Out there, he all but screamed it in my face, the way he was going on and on about how it wasn't what it looked like and you're doing a great job and don't mention it to Amilyn or his mother just in case they think worse of you because nothing is going on, really truly, Jannah. That man has never done anything for anybody but himself, but he would've gotten on his knees and begged for you. He loves you."

"No, he doesn't, he thinks -" _He thinks you're nothing, just like everybody else does._ Rey shakes her head, trying to clear it. "He thinks I'm...small. Minor league. Maybe he wants - maybe he might want to sleep with me. But that's it. And I'm not going to sleep with him because it's - inappropriate. So."

Jannah searches her face, her eyes alighting with some kind of understanding. "I can't convince you if you're unwilling to be convinced," she says at last. "You should call your friends. And you should talk to Ben. Before somebody with more pull than me finds out."

"That's nothing to find out about, nothing is -"

"Rey," Jannah interrupts, waving her hand in the other woman's face. She stands up, smoothing her skirt. "You need to stop lying to yourself. Call your friends. Talk to Ben. Now I'm going to sleep, so try not to pine so loudly. It always keeps me up."

That night, Rey dreams about home.

In the dream, she can't tell where she is exactly. It's a house she's never been in before. When she looks out of the window, she sees the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial swaying like grass in the wind. The sun is bright, streaming through the roof of the house. She feels the way she did in an apartment in New York, looking out at a sea of lights.

She wakes up tangled in the sheets, her alarm blaring, a vague sense of dissatisfaction creeping through her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will likely be one of the last if not the last chapters that i update so quickly lol BUT i do want to finish this fic in a timely manner. hopefully i'll have time to keep working on it this week!


	10. you like to have sex and you like to travel? then you can fuck off

This is some weird-ass _Through the Looking Glass_ shit right now.

** 10\. you like to have sex and you like to travel? then you can fuck off**

Rose can't resist rubbing it in, which was to be expected.

"I called it," she shrieks over the phone.

Rey jerks at the high volume, rubbing her temples wearily. She's exhausted after the day she's had, and she doesn't particularly like the idea of Jannah coming back to the room early while Rose is in the middle of crowing her success. "I just spilled my guts to you, and that's all you have to say to comfort me? _I called it_?"

"I literally - Finn is out getting groceries so he can't back me up on this - but I literally said the day you first heard his name that you were going to sleep with him."

"You said I was going to sleep my way to the top, I might point out," Rey says, slightly offended. "He could have been ugly. Or old. Like, _Tarkin_ old."

"Ugh, fine, whatever," Rose moans, "but I also said that he called you a gentile seductress, you have to give me credit for that."

"That was back when he hated me, that doesn't count."

Rose is silent for a moment. "Rey."

"What?"

"You're one of my favorite people in the entire world aside from Finn and Paige, so I'm going to be as gentle as possible when I tell you this."

Rey stretches out on the bed, letting her feet dangle off the edge. "What?"

"Rey, you are lovable. You are a person that other people want to be around. You are temperamental, yes, perhaps resentful, and quick to judgment, and sometimes you do not dress as well as you could -"

"Hey, now you're just being mean!"

"Ann Taylor is for women in their forties, Rey, not hot happening young professionals. Anyway." Rose takes a breath, letting her voice ease into something like gentleness. Something like care. Rey can feel the first swell of tears, and she will not cry because she is a grown-up and that would be very childish of her. Still, she can't help but cling to each and every word Rose says with the kind of devotion she'd ordinarily reserve for food. "I know you've had a harder life than most people. I know you've had a rough time of it, and you think people leave you because you're fundamentally unlovable, but you're _not_. You are an amazing person, but you always, _always_ have this idea that people don't like you, and it's just not true. You are likable. People like you because you deserve it. Because you're _great_."

Rey sniffs embarrassingly loud, swiping her hand across under her eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," she says, smiling, "but you're forgetting that Ben actually _didn't_ like me at first."

"No, girl." Rose titters, and Rey gets the sense that if she were here, she would be pulling Rey up to her by the shirt, trying to _shake some sense into that Ivy League brain_. "He always did. Do you really think he would've let you yell at him over stupid polling data if he didn't? He would've put you back with us lowly interns the second you called his Harvard diploma into question. He was pulling on your pigtails."

Rey scoffs. "I don't think -"

"He was trying to get your attention," Rose interrupts. "Because he has a crush on you." She pauses, letting the words hang in the air. "And, based on your silence, I guess you are just now realizing that I'm right."

Rey furrows her brow, still blinking back a few stray tears. "Maybe," she says slowly. She thinks of Ben's hand on her waist, on her leg, on her hand. "Maybe."

Rose gives out a little cheer. "I'm proud of you for finally acknowledging reality. And we've made some significant progress here today, but there is still one thing that has yet to be determined."

She shifts the phone from one ear to the other, pressing it against her cheek. "Yeah?"

"Do you like him, too?"

Her voice is barely loud enough to be called a whisper when she says, "Yes."

"Then that's all that matters."

"But he's my boss," she protests, but this time more weakly than before.

"Details, baby," Rose says, and now Rey can hear the smile in her voice as she speaks. It makes something flutter in her heart, a grin spreading wide across her own face. "Details."

There is something about the road. Rey has always thought so.

The last few days are hectic, filled to the brim with dinners and speeches and so many god damn phone calls that she can hardly keep track of it all. The entire staff seems to be feeling it. It’s like the last few days before break in school: brimming with anxiety and excitement in equal measure, splashed with a healthy dose of panic.

She thinks, sometimes, when she has a moment to breathe, of the night in Boston. She thinks of the night in New York. His hand on her waist, his hand on her leg, his hand on her hand.

But that's only when she has a moment to breathe. Once the campaign trail ends and they are comfortably back in D.C. for the election, she promises herself, she will do _something_ about it. All of it.

What that _something_ is remains a mystery.

On the last night of the trail, Leia closes down a restaurant for them. It's divey, tacky and vaguely unclean, the kind of place Rey loves but can't imagine someone like Leia ever setting foot in. Yet, she does, and she seems more at home in it than Rey would have thought.

The dinner they have in celebration is rowdy and loud, full of bold declarations like: they will never take another bus (“Next time it’ll be Air Force One,” Poe hollers to uproarious applause), they will never again take hotel towels for granted, and next they’ll be having this same kind of event in the comfort of the West Wing (“And not a moment too soon,” Amilyn cheers).

It’s exactly the kind of party Rey used to imagine herself going to, even as she studied and labored in Philadelphia. It’s sweet, filled with laughter and relieved joy and funny, kind, caring people who she has grown fond in spite of herself.

Rey is grinning wildly, chatting with Jannah and Kaydel over food and drinks. Ben is at a completely different table, sitting near his parents; when she manages to glance over, she can hear him rejecting Poe’s insistence they do shots over and over again.

He looks good, she notices, at ease, his posture relaxed. God damn him - she feels like she's never been tenser in her life.

Their eyes meet from across the room, once or twice during dinner. She looks away each time, distracting herself by listening harder to one of Kaydel’s jokes, laughing too vibrantly.

_In D.C._, she tells herself. In D.C., she will do something.

At the other table, Ben catches her eye again, and she can’t tell what the expression on his face means, she has no idea.

Rey downs the rest of her drink and hopes and hopes and hopes.

She wakes up in the morning on Saturday in what she’s sure will be the last twin bed she ever sleeps in.

”You know that if the senator wins and you stay on you might have to do another road trip,” Jannah tells her, but Rey only turns up her nose.

”Never again,” she vows, smoothing her hands over the duvet. 

”You know," Jannah says conversationally, "I heard Poe is dragging some people to some kind of unofficial post-trail celebration.” She pulls her hoop earrings on, turning her head this way and that to see how they catch in the light. “Tonight, actually. I don’t think Amilyn knows, or she’d have already asked me to talk him into shutting it down. Can’t have Leia’s staff act in any way visibly human until after she’s been elected.”

”Yeah?” Rey crouches, one hand on the nightstand holding her upright as she pulls on her shoes. Her heels, thank god, have finally started to build up better callouses. “Send me the details, I’ll see if Finn and Rose want to go.”

"Yeah, absolutely." Jannah smiles, and it’s the most excited Rey has ever seen her. She wonders if this is actually the other woman’s natural state, this easy happiness, if it’s the job that makes her so deadly calm and put together the rest of the time. She can’t help but smile in return. "God, I am kind of dreading when the election is over, but at least I don’t have to live on a rotation of ten outfits anymore.”

Rey has spent her entire life living on a rotation of ten outfits. Fewer, usually. She does not mention this. “I’m sure you’ll look amazing,” she assures her.

Jannah drags her suitcase to the door, leading the way out of the room. Rey can’t help a glance behind, just the one. The last twin bed, she vows silently.

”I fucking better,” Jannah says.

Ben sits next to her on the way home. Rey can’t figure out if it’s because he wants to, if it’s the charging port, or a combination of the two.

She’s composing an email on her phone when he coughs, uncrosses and recrosses his legs in her direction, and asks, “What are you going to do with your one day of freedom?”

She snorts, closing out of her email app. ”Sleep."

”That sounds like a good idea,” Ben agrees vaguely.

Rey is quiet for a moment, listening to the steady click of Amilyn on her laptop, the low grade muttering that seems to come from everywhere all at once. She can’t stop thinking about it - the ridges of her spine pressed against his hotel room door, the warmth of his body so close to hers. His hands are fidgeting now, flying from his pockets to his phone, to the seat edge, to his own nails. She keeps imagining what they would look like gripping her thighs, how big they would feel on her legs when hitching her knees over his hips and, okay, maybe she should stop fantasizing about something like that before he gets uncomfortable because she’s pretty sure she’s just been openly staring at his hands for way too long.

When she chances a look at him, she can see that Ben’s eyes are fixed on her throat. She raises her hand to her necklace self-consciously, about to twist the charm between her fingers, when he seems to find his voice.

”Is that...a sword?” he asks, a little dumbly.

Rey glances down at the golden charm. It’s the most expensive thing she’s ever owned, a gift given to herself after earning her Master's. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “Is that dorky?”

”I noticed before, but I think -" He pauses, clearing his throat. "I always assumed it was a cross. It looks kind of like a cross.”

”No, it’s a sword,” she says, and now she just sounds idiotic because Ben’s gaze hasn’t moved from her neck and she can already tell her cheeks are heating up at the attention. “It’s - a metaphor? Of some kind? I don’t know.”

He lifts his eyes to hers. She feels exactly like the little country mouse he accused her of being, and he is a python getting ready to eat her alive. ”Tell me,” he says, his voice velvet soft.

She is going to have a heart attack and die, right in front of God and everybody. It takes her a moment to say, with some measure of normalcy, ”It’s just something that reminds me to - fight, I guess.”

He cocks an eyebrow. ”To the death, I assume.”

”Is there any other way?”

A smile flickers across his face. ”Not a bad motto to have in politics,” he says. “Or life.”

”I think so.”

”Maybe I should get a sword," he muses.

”I can give you the website where I found mine.”

”No, I meant like an actual sword. Capable of stabbing and everything.”

”Do you mean to tell me that you glaring daggers at me when I was learning how to use your office telephone was not in fact a sincere effort to kill me?”

”Rey," he says seriously, "if I really wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t be pulling my punches. You would already be dead and buried in my backyard.”

”As long as it’s got some kind of garden, it's probably still a nicer place to die than Jakku.”

”What the fuck are you two talking about?” Poe asks from behind them, one earbud dangling down his shoulder.

Rey glances back at him, keeping a straight face. “Jewelry.”

Poe rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Rey grins at Ben, about to turn back around when Poe continues, unswayed, “Solo, don’t forget that you owe me.”

Ben swears under his breath, quiet enough that only Rey can hear it. “That deal was not made in good faith, Dameron.”

”Too bad, you will not renege on this promise to me or I will tell on you to your mother. I have spoken."

"Dameron -"

"Oh, sorry, I can't hear you," Poe says loudly, drawing attention from Kaydel across the aisle as he puts his earbuds back in. He hams it up longer than strictly necessary, miming his inability to listen to Ben.

Rey watches for a moment as Ben sits and fumes. "Am I allowed to ask -"

"No," he interrupts, petulantly upset like a child being put in time-out, "you are not allowed to ask."

Rey has never been more excited to see her own bedroom, she is pretty sure.

Her apartment is nothing to write home about. Rey has lived in it for six months, and, in that time, has scarcely had the opportunity to decorate it beyond a few photos of Finn and Rose she has set up on her dresser. Now that the campaign is winding down, Rey can't help but look over her things and plan. On the wall, she'll put up that tapestry she saw in Urban Outfitters that is definitely overpriced but also chic as hell; in the corner, she'll put a beanbag chair that no one will ever use but her. She will acquire a cat of some kind and name it something cute like Bugsy or Lady Fluffington or Baby. She will have a man over (she will not imagine what this man looks like), and he will laugh good-naturedly at all of the doodads and knick-knacks and kitsch she has lining the shelves. He will lift up her worn-down copy of _Wuthering Heights_ and understand exactly what she feels when she reads it for the umpteenth time; he will note her lack of television and badger her into buying one for herself, encouraging her to be selfish for once, to use her money instead of hoarding it. He will remind her that she has made it at last, that she doesn't need to be afraid anymore, that she isn't alone. He will shower in her bathroom and bring his own hair products because hers are crappy off-brand shampoos and conditioners, and he will let her use his leave-in conditioner from Sephora, and when he's finished his dark hair will look and smell better than hers no matter what she does with it. She will work long hours on the Hill and come back exhausted, and he will make her French food that always makes her feel fancy and sophisticated, and Baby will be curled up on top of the quilt on her bed (she will get a quilt to put on her bed, a patchwork one, or maybe she'll make it herself), and she will feel relaxed. At peace.

She will, she decides, finally feel at home.

She takes a breath and unlocks the door.

The moment she steps through, she is immediately accosted by Finn and Rose.

"Peanut!" Finn bellows, grabbing her and engulfing her in a bear hug. "We missed you!"

Rey can see Rose screeching behind him, jumping up and down with a party hat perched precariously on her head. "Oh my god," Rey says, and there is suddenly a feeling in her chest that overwhelms her with love and happiness and everything good. "Did you really get me a cake?"

"Of course!" Rose squeals happily. "We are going to eat all of it and watch _Pride and Prejudice_ -" Finn groans his protest, but Rose ignores him, carrying on contentedly, "and we will stay up all night and drink our faces off and then we will do nothing all day tomorrow except celebrate your triumphant return!"

"That sounds amazing," Rey says, smiling so wide she thinks it'll probably tear her face in two. "Jannah, you know, Amilyn's assistant, invited me to this post-trail bar party-type situation, but staying in with you guys sounds so much better."

Rose instantly stops jumping. "Oh, no," she declares, "we're definitely doing that instead."

She blanches. "What? No! I missed you both, I don't want to go out and get trashed with a bunch of my _coworkers_ -"

"Rey," Finn says, clapping a hand on her shoulder, "I'm going to stop you right there. Because you have already been outvoted. Because I, for one, am definitely down to see my coworkers get trashed."

"Think of all the ill-advised hook-ups we'll get to witness," Rose adds, with each word growing more visibly enthused. "All the spilled drinks, all the fist-fights with Republican staffers, all the impromptu karaoke. Rey. We _have_ to go out tonight. The cake and_ Pride and Prejudice_ can wait until the morrow."

"Calling it 'the morrow' does not sound more English, I don't care what you say."

"Please, Rey?" Rose begs, threading her fingers together under her chin. She bats her eyelashes daintily, trying to hide a smile. "Please, can we go watch everybody being embarrassing?"

Rey groans, and she knows, in that moment, the battle is already lost.

The bar is a shit-show.

It's packed full of people like sardines in a can, each of them swaying precariously, most double fisting drinks that look like they were brewed in a bucket with Depression-era moonshine. Blaring deafeningly from the speakers is something that sounds suspiciously like Death Grips, and it gives her a headache just listening to it. She hopes music can't cause her teeth to rot out of her mouth, because otherwise she's in real trouble.

"Oh, what the fuck," Rose yells over the music, pointing to something that's just beyond Rey's line of sight. "Is that -"

"No," Finn shouts back, "no way, he wouldn't be caught dead at a place like this."

Rey strains her neck, trying to see who they're talking about. The moment she does, she realizes, with the kind of epiphany that usually happens to her once every four years, like Leap Day, that Ben had gotten out of doing any shots the previous night on the condition that he do them here. Now.

Because there is no other explanation for why Benjamin Solo, notorious grump and general curmudgeonly and prematurely old man, is throwing back a shot of tequila alongside Poe and Snap like someone is literally holding a gun to his head.

”Oh, no,” she says, slightly horrified.

”Oh, hell yeah,” Rose squeals to her right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'VE SEEN FOOTAGE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3_V_2BFWahc)


	11. nightcap?

Hypocritical. And horny.

** 11\. nightcap?**

As they were getting ready for the night in Rose and Finn's apartment, Rose asked her who would probably be there.

Rey shrugged, struggling to make her eyeliner wings even. “Jannah, definitely. Poe, maybe Kaydel and Snap. I really have no idea. Maybe some other people from the office.” She furrowed her brow in frustration and smudged the eyeliner off with the back of her hand, deciding to start over again. “It’s kind of a last minute thing, you know.”

”Poe is cool,” Finn said, tugging on his shoes. “If nothing else we can hang out with him.”

”You know, he’s technically one of your supervisors,” Rey pointed out, swiping on a layer of mascara.

”Barely,” Finn replied. “And Rose wanted to make Jannah be her friend.”

”She seems cool, okay!” Rose hollered from the bathroom. “I want more friends!”

”Don’t we all.” Rey checked her reflection one last time. Rose had talked her into wearing a dress that is both way too tight and way too short to be possibly considered appropriate and heels that make her even taller than usual (“You shouldn’t hook up with a dude who you can’t wear heels around anyway,” Rose justified). Rey decided, last minute, to leave her hair down from her usual buns. Seeing the result, she felt like she looked pretty good, and she didn’t even feel weird about saying so.

She banged on the bathroom door, ignoring Rose’s yelp of _I’m not ready!_ “So are we doing this thing or what?”

When Ben notices her looking at him, he chokes halfway through swallowing his next shot of tequila, spilling some of it on the bar top.

”Hey, what the fuck, man,” Poe shouts, lifting his elbows out of the way. “Can’t handle your - oh! Rey! What’s up?”

”This place is fucking crazy,” Rose says, pushing her way closer to the bar. “Hi, you might not know me -“

”Rose! And, of course, Finn, buddy! The dynamic duo!” Poe winks at Rey, seeming completely oblivious to the way Ben frowns in irritation. “I make it my business to know everybody.”

”He makes it his business to bother everybody,” Ben clarifies, seemingly recovered from his initial shock. “What are you...all doing here?”

Rey can’t look at anyone else when Ben is running his eyes over her like that, like he is committing her to memory. She shifts, suddenly self-conscious about the low cut of her dress, the hem line that seems to be inching higher and higher up her legs with the slightest movement. ”Jannah invited me and I dragged along these two.”

Ben says something quietly that sounds suspiciously like _God damn Jannah_. “Let me get you a drink.”

”Get her a shot,” Poe shouts, his face alighting with excitement.

”No,” Ben shouts back, “you didn’t make any kind of deal with her, leave her alone.”

”I’ll do a shot,” Rey says, shrugging. She is not excited about this, she is not excited, it is actually very weird that she is here standing next to Ben, and she’s definitely not excited - “Why not?”

”Lemon drop?” Poe asks, flagging down the bartender. 

“How about a blow job?” Rose grins, pinching Rey in the side. Rey bats her hand away, blushing.

”Simmer down, honey,” Finn says, hugging her closer. “I doubt this bar is equipped to do anything fancier than a well drink. Don’t forget who’s going to have to take care of you when we get home.”

Poe raises his eyebrows in question. ”Rey?” 

”I’m good with just vodka,” she tells the bartender. "Water chaser."

"It’s on my tab, and go ahead and make one for this guy, too," Poe adds, slugging Ben in the shoulder. Rey can see, suddenly, how much more massive Ben is than the other men around him. It makes something roll in her gut, hot and tight. "You owe me five, and you've only done four. Finish this off, and your penance is complete."

"I did five," Ben protests. "That last one was five."

"You spit out half of it, that doesn't count."

The bartender rolls his eyes, filling up the two glasses in front of them. Poe shoves Ben closer to her, until his shoulder is bumping uncomfortably against hers. He seems like he's trying to make himself smaller, keep his body to himself, and is failing miserably. Rey clinks her shot glass against his, encouraging him to pick it up.

He does, albeit reluctantly. "Cheers," she shouts.

"Cheers," he says, more quietly than the music really warrants, and swallows the entire thing down with only the barest grimace.

Rey coughs, reaching blindly for the water. "Fuck, I haven't done that since university."

"Me neither."

"That was further back for you, though."

“Is that a dig?" He seems, funny enough, actually offended. "Are you calling me old?”

”I’m pretty sure I heard an intern ask who invited the forty year olds, so yes, I am.” She taps her hand on the bar, watching as the glass is filled again.

"I'm not forty," Ben says, furrowing his brow. "Don't do another one."

"I have to catch up," she says, grinning. "Can't let you lot have all the fun."

"Doing shots is not fun," Ben deadpans, "it's very serious business, involving back-alley deals and blackmail."

"It sounds like it." Rey downs her vodka, unwilling to take her eyes away from him. "Five? Really?”

”That was after negotiating him down from ten.”

”I think you would die.”

”I wouldn’t die, but I would definitely black out and commit a felony or two.”

”Only the cool ones I hope.”

Ben glares at her witheringly. ”Obviously only the cool ones. Stealing cars, robbing banks -“

”Less talking, more drinking,” Poe shouts, slamming his hand on the bar top, to the annoyance of the bartender.

“Fucking D.C.,” he says to himself, raising his eyes to the ceiling and walking away.

Snap Irish exits somewhere between the bar and the table that Poe drags them to, which is just fine by her because she has no idea what to say to the man. Jannah finds them halfway there, shrieking with joy when she sees that Rey showed.

”Oh my god, Jannah, you don’t know me, but we should totally be friends,” Rose yells, clinging to the other woman’s arm as they walk together. 

”Oh my god, we totally should!”

”Ahh! Yay! Rey, Jannah said she’ll be our friend!”

Rey sets her vodka lemonade on the table, sticky with beer and wet from condensation. “I heard,” she says, smiling.

”Is this table big enough for everybody?” Finn asks, surveying the size of it. He has a point, Rey notes: it seems to barely fit two people on each side, let alone three.

”Absolutely,” Jannah insists, sitting down on one side of the booth next to Poe. “Poe and I are going to get real close and Rose, you can sit on your boyfriend’s lap. Rey and Ben can take the other side.”

”What about me?” Kaydel yells over the music as she walks up, carrying a drink in each hand.

”Really, Kay? Couldn’t satisfy yourself with one at a time?”

”Have you seen the crowd by the bar? I’m just being efficient.”

Jannah groans, fighting her way back out of the booth to push Ben to the edge of the other side, shoving Rey in after him. “I spend all day dealing with adults who act like children, I can’t believe I have to show you people how to make room. Get closer, no one here has cooties!”

”Speak for yourself,” Poe says, grinning rakishly.

Jannah waves her hands in a shooing gesture until Rey is practically in Ben’s lap. Kaydel slides in next to her, perched precariously at the edge of the seat.

”Yeah, this table definitely wasn’t made for this many people,” Finn says as he sits back down, tugging Rose onto his legs.

”Only if you’re a coward,” Poe replies.

Rey doesn’t pay much attention to the argument that follows about whether or not the size of the table is worth the hassle - she can’t really focus on anything but the way Ben has looped one arm around the back of the booth to stretch out his oversized frame. His fingers keep accidentally drifting against her bare shoulder; her knee is pressed against his knee, her shin against his shin. She should cross her legs, she thinks, because her dress is riding up to the point of indecency and she is squashed in between two of her coworkers. She does not tug it down, and she doesn’t cross her legs. She squeezes her thighs together and tries to ignore the wetness between them.

When the rest of the table bursts into laughter at who knows what, Rey joins in, pressing her nails through the hair at the nape of her neck.

It is sometime in the middle of Ben laughing at one of Poe’s stupid jokes that Rey realizes she has never seen him drunk before.

She can tell she’s quickly getting to that point too - the two shots at the bar hadn’t hit her too hard as far as she could tell, but with each successive sip of her nail-polish-remover-like drink she can feel the world around her getting wavy, her face flushing from the heat of the bar and the nearness of Ben’s body.

Drunk Ben is calmer than she’s ever seen, more relaxed pressed up against the dirty wall of a dive bar than he’s ever been at the campaign offices. Drunk Ben is wearing the same kind of clothes as usual, sans a jacket and tie, sleeves rolled up, but he looks completely different anyway. Drunk Ben is a little bit too loud when he contributes to the conversation, drawing the attention of everyone nearby every time he makes a comment. Drunk Ben thinks everything is funny. Drunk Ben keeps stroking a circle on the top of her shoulder, to the point that Rey keeps glancing at the faces around the table, trying to see if they are noticing the way he’s touching her, because it isn’t friendly, it’s not friendly at all.

”You know, Rey, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down,” Poe comments off-handedly. Rey crashes back to reality with a bump.

”Girl, put your record on,” Rose sings, and Jannah joins in raucously, “tell me your favorite song.”

Finn finishes it off in falsetto, “You go ahead, let your hair down!”

”Wow, I’m impressed,” Rey says, laughing.

”Well, I did listen to a lot of Michael Jackson as a kid,” Finn says, faux-modest. 

”Oh, that explains everything,” Rey teases.

”Oh holy fuck,” Rose interrupts, her voice carrying over the music. “Are they playing what I think they’re playing?”

Rey strains her ears, trying to listen closer to the words. Once she registers them, she blushes, thoroughly embarrassed.

”This is the dirtiest song I think I’ve ever heard,” Kaydel says. 

”Is that so bad?” Poe counters, a smile stretching across his face.

Rose clambers to her feet, yelling at Finn and Jannah to dance with her, and the two oblige, following her to the crush of people in the middle of the bar. 

”I’m not sure this song is the kind you dance to,” Rey comments faintly.

”Who cares, it’s fucking hilarious,” Kaydel yells in reply, “come on, Rey, let’s go.”

Rey can still feel Ben’s eyes on her, the way she can feel sunlight shining bright on her back. “I’m good, you go ahead.”

Kaydel shrugs, standing up. “Suit yourself. Poe?”

Rey watches Poe as he glances at their side of the booth, and she can practically see the gears turning over each other in his head. “Yeah,” he says finally, not taking his eyes off Rey, “why not?” He taps his hand on the tabletop before he leaves, and winks. “Behave, you two.”

”Oh, would you just fuck off,” Ben says, his voice slightly slurred with drunkenness but his irritation perfectly plain. Poe just laughs in response.

With the booth suddenly open and free of people, Rey thinks dimly, she should go to the other side, or at a minimum scoot away from Ben. She does neither.

”I’ve seen you with your hair down before,” Ben says suddenly, picking up the middle of a conversation long since past.

”Oh, have you?”

”In New York. You look different.” He is looking at her the same way he did at the bar, like he’s trying to remember every single detail. He says, soft enough that she can barely hear, “You look good.”

There are strands of hair stuck to the side of her face from sweat, and she knows her eyeliner wings have long since smudged all over her eyelids. She scrunches her nose, says, “I’m sure I look beautiful.”

His face is utterly serious when he replies. “Yeah, you do.”

Her mouth opens and closes again. She forces a laugh, gently punching him on the arm, trying for easy-going and missing it entirely. “You’re drunk.”

”Hardly. I can still recite the alphabet backwards, watch: Z, Y, X, W -“

”If I drank like that," she cuts him off, "I would be falling over and yelling at everybody. The police would have to come because I’d be starting so many fights.”

”Oh, please, you would start a fight sober. Besides, I’m bigger than you, it takes more. I could keep going.”

Rey’s face lights up. “Will you?”

”No.”

She bursts into laughter at the stoic solemnity of his answer, and Ben smiles, and it’s - it’s perfect, she realizes. “I’m glad you came,” she says on a whim.

”Yeah,” he says, his eyes running over her face, “so am I.”

”Oh my god, you guys missed it!” Jannah shrieks as she stumbles over, dropping heavily onto the other side of the booth. “Finn ran into Phasma -“

”No,” Rey says, horrified.

”_Yes_, and Rose had to hold him back from physically fighting her, it was _amazing_. She’s dragging him back here now.”

”Finn, you are not a martial arts expert and she will beat you up,” Rose says loudly, tugging her boyfriend by his elbow back to the booth and settling him in next to Jannah.

”And that’s my cue to go get some air,” Rey announces, standing, pleased to note she can do it without gripping the edge of the table for balance. 

”Oh, honey, I can go with if you want!” Rose says, sounding out of breath. “I don’t want you walking around outside alone.”

”I can go with her,” Ben says, climbing out of his seat after her. “I was going to go smoke for a minute anyway.”

Rose opens her mouth, seeming about to make a comment, and she shuts it again, grinning. “That works. Watch out for pickpockets.”

Rey rolls her eyes. ”Rose, this isn’t _Oliver Twist_.”

”I’ll keep lookout for the Artful Dodger,” Ben vows seriously.

As they walk out, pushing gracelessly through the crowd, Rey glances at Ben. “I’m surprised you would admit to knowing anything about _Oliver_.”

He shrugs, ignoring the way someone shoulders him on route to the exit. “My mother really likes the stage production. You know, the musical. I’ve probably seen it three or four times.”

They finally make it outside, the air cool and fresh. The street around them is empty, surprisingly, the yellow light of the street lamps casting everything in an odd shadow. Rey breathes in deeply, letting herself relax bit by bit as they walk idly around the corner of the bar.

”You’ve seen a lot of those, then? Musicals?”

He smirks ruefully. ”More than I’d care to admit.”

”_Wicked_? _Cabaret_?” She gasps. “_Hamilton_?”

He thinks for a moment. ”_Wicked_ twice, _Cabaret_ three times in New York and once in London. My mother loves Broadway, it’s half the reason why she likes having the apartment in the city.”

”So what I’m hearing is that you haven’t seen _Hamilton_.”

He seems to struggle with something for a moment. When he speaks, it’s slow, cautious. “That one is new, and we - we haven’t had the best relationship up until recently. And I don’t think I’d ever go see something like that of my own volition. So no, I haven’t seen that one.”

”Maybe you could go with her,” she suggests gently. “After the election.”

”Maybe,” he says, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “What about you?”

”Hmm?”

”Do you go to the theater often, or...?”

She chuckles ruefully, quick and short. “No, not really. I don’t think Jakku even has any kind of performance hall, and I’ve spent most of my time here just working.”

He frowns, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk so that Rey has to turn around and walk back to him. “You should go, when all of this is over. If you want to, you should go.”

”I don’t have the time,” Rey says, “and, besides, it's too expensive to justify -“

”Then I’ll take you,” he says. Watching him, she can tell he hadn’t meant to say it, that he’s trying to figure out a way to backtrack. He doesn’t seem to find one.

She looks at the way he’s gone quiet and nervous, and hears herself say abruptly, “You’re not smoking.”

”What?” Ben looks at his hand, as if confirming that, yes, there is no cigarette there. “I just said that so you wouldn’t be going outside alone. Because of pickpockets.”

”But you _do_ smoke,” she says, feeling a little stupid, a little slow on the uptake.

”No, I stopped,” he says. “You were right, you know, it’s a bad habit, and there’s no real reason for me to keep doing it.”

She stares at him. And stares and stares. “You quit because I asked you to?”

He barely has time to nod before Rey is stepping closer to him, stretching up on her toes and gently pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Only: there is this moment that he turns his head to her, just slightly too far, and instead of a chaste peck on the cheek Rey is, strangely, kissing him completely on the mouth. What’s worse is that she doesn’t even pull away quickly to correct the error and laugh uncomfortably. Instead, she keeps her lips on his, gently moving her mouth, and she doesn’t say a single word about it being a mistake or an accident when she moves away.

Ben doesn’t do anything for a beat. And then, in the next moment, he does everything.

He grabs her by the waist and hauls her closer to him, and then suddenly it’s not any kind of joke or game or accident anymore and his lips are on hers again and he is opening her mouth with his tongue and they are kissing and it's for fucking _real_.

The first thing she notices, even through the haze of alcohol and the bewilderment she’s experiencing from making out with Ben (fucking _Ben_), is that he kisses her like he is fighting a war, or maybe more accurately like he is trying to eat her face. It’s all tongue and teeth, groaning into her mouth, his breathing harsh when she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer. She kisses him back just as ferociously, and when she hears herself moan the first time she can hardly believe the noise came from her.

Ben keeps moving his hands over the landscape of her body, seemingly never satisfied with where he puts them - tangled in her hair, holding onto her face, gripping her back, edging under her breasts (where, she notices with a shiver of embarrassment, or maybe it's thrill, she is bare under her dress because Rose said visible bra straps are very 2004). Rey can’t stop gasping into the kiss, can’t stop the little whimpers that come from deep within her, until her throat feels raw and rough from overuse. 

She doesn’t even realize the way he’d been moving her until her back hits the brick wall of the bar. The shock of it startles them apart, Ben jumping away from her like he's stuck a fork in an electrical outlet. The way he’s looking at her, his hair mussed, eyes bright and besotted with some mix of alcohol and desire, lips sucked red and swollen - he looks like he’d like to try touching her again, like he’s excited to feel that lightning shock jolt through him.

”Ben,” she says, and that seems to be motivation enough for him to reach out.

His control seems to have snapped in half somewhere between him shoving her against the wall and touching her because _jeez louise_ (_jeez louise? Really?_), he isn’t holding anything back now. He handles her like she weighs nothing, and she can’t help but imagine that too - Ben fucking her with that kind of aggressiveness, lifting her up and down on his cock. Before she can catch her breath, he's sliding his knee between her legs, pushing them apart. When he grinds her down on his thigh, she moans, tipping her head back, letting him attack her throat like it’s his favorite meal and he’s been fucking starving. If he even has a favorite meal - most of the time, he seems to eat solely for necessity, not so much the enjoyment. He’s enjoying himself now, she’s pretty sure.

Its a long moment before she can hear the words he’s muttering into her neck, even longer before her brain catches up with her and starts to recognize some of them: _want_ and _need_ and _fuck_ and _Rey_. He keeps nipping her here and there, sucking little bruises and bites into her skin until he carefully mouths his way back to her lips, gently snapping at her chin and cheeks on the way. He’s trying to eat her, like a snake, he’s trying to gobble her up. She can’t stop thinking that: that he’s going to kiss her until he can figure out a way to swallow her whole and once he does figure it out, watch out, lady.

It’s only when he starts tugging at the hem of her dress in earnest that Rey summons enough willpower to pull her mouth away.

He looks...dazed. Like he’s blown a fuse and is operating at fifty percent capacity, or wherever she was going with this metaphor - she doesn’t know if she could think straight if she tried. She’s not trying very hard; her hips are still moving in these little circles over the bone of his thigh, and it makes him shudder.

”I think...I am...We should go back inside,” she mumbles. Her eyes are still drifting down to the lower half of their bodies, where their legs are intertwined, where his hands are still fucking gigantic on her hips. She can feel something hard pressing against her stomach, and yeah, okay, that’s definitely an erection. Not that she can blame him; she's been wet since the moment she sat next to him in the bar.

Rey thinks, with all the sudden clarity of sobering up, that things are going to be awkward on Monday.

”Okay,” he says, his grip tightening around her waist. He makes no move to leave. “Okay, we can go.”

”Okay.” She waits, and Ben does nothing, his fingers still flexing open and closed, his eyes, half-lidded, gazing up and down her body. Carefully, intently, he grinds her down against his leg again, like he’s experimenting, like he’s trying to determine exactly how crazy he can make her with lust. The feeling she gets in between her thighs, the stiff cloth of his pants rubbing all kinds of delicious friction against her oversensitive skin, her flimsy cotton panties sliding indecently - it’s downright pornographic. “We should -“ she manages in between gasps.

”Yeah, you’re right,” he says, slightly out of breath as he speaks. He tears himself away from her slowly, every single movement tinged with reluctance, until he is standing apart from her again. She misses the feeling of his hands on her the moment he pulls them away.

They walk back slower than before, standing closer together.

"So, that was," Rey says, but she doesn't finish the thought.

He gets it anyway. "That was," he agrees, nodding. "Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I THINK I'M IN LOVE AGAIN (LOVE AGAIN)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QkZurfE8Gbc)


	12. because of the axis of dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol remember when i claimed i wouldn't be updating this so quickly
> 
> i will slow down at some point i promise

_ Stop staring at me like that. Undressing me with your eyes. _

I'm adding more clothes.

** 12\. because of the axis of dick**

Sunday is a wash. Rey spends the day with Rose and Finn, lazily snacking on the cake they’d gotten her, making commentary throughout _Pride and Prejudice_ (“The hand flex,” Rose screeches, shaking Finn by the shoulder, “the hand flex!”), and studiously staying away from of making any mention whatsoever of Ben.

But the more she tries to avoid talking about it, the more she thinks about it, until the memory of his mouth on hers, his tongue between her teeth, is all that occupies her brain, and Ben may as well purchase a summer home there because he’s not leaving anytime soon. With every passing moment, they get closer and closer to work on Monday, when she won’t be able to avoid it any longer.

“Rey?” She blinks to see Finn watching her, worry written over his face. “You good?”

She nods. “Yeah, just hungover.”

He groans in commiseration. “I don’t think I’ve drank like that in...years. I honestly feel like warmed over shit.”

Rose pats his hand, a little sympathetic, a little mocking. “Baby, you’re getting old.”

“What? No, I’m not," he sputters.

”No, she’s right,” Rey agrees. “Rose, you still have a few years before you’re officially in your mid-twenties, and I just want to say, I do not recommend it. Discover immortality while you can, because it’s all downhill from here.”

“I’ll do my best," she vows.

So it’s period dramas, cake, and too much lounging around doing fuck all. And that is how Rey spends the day after the Event.

When they walked back into the bar, no one seemed to suspect anything. Rey couldn’t tell if it was the dim lighting hiding the flush of their faces or the hickeys she was sure were growing on her neck, if it was the fact of everyone else’s inebriation, or if it was just so implausible that it bordered on ludicrous, but no one so much as winked when they returned. 

Ben kept stroking different patterns on the inside of her knee under the table for the rest of the night. When they all eventually left to go home, one by one, she hugged him no longer and no shorter than everybody else. She did not say _call me_ or _text me_ or any of the usual things one says after they have made out in a semi-public place. She took an Uber back to her apartment and laid quietly in bed until she fell asleep, her mind still racing.

On Sunday, she gets a text from an unknown number just after Finn and Rose go home. The only thing it says is: _Hey._ With a period and everything.

Rey blushes, looking around the room as if someone might pop out from behind her credenza and shout: J’accuse! You totally sucked face with your boss and now you are all secretive and happy about it! 

_Hi._ (Also with a period.)

She barely sets the phone back down on her coffee table when it buzzes again.

_This is my personal._

_Because you already have my work number._

_Just in case you were wondering._

She’s not going to smile. Rey presses her hand to her mouth, trying to physically force it into neutrality.

_Poe?_

_Amilyn?_

_Senator Organa?_

He has read receipts, which - yeah, of course he does. She almost laughs at how quickly he replies to her.

_Very funny._

_Yes, I thought so._

She types a follow-up, just to be sure, because if he can be hard to read in person sometimes, it’s damn near impossible through text.

_I do know who it is. Just in case you were worried._

_I wasn’t._

_Wondering if I need to remind you tomorrow though._

She already has reminders all over her neck that she’s kept hidden with a not-quite turtleneck shirt. She’ll need to wear something similar tomorrow, based on how slow they are fading. Rey squirms in her seat on the couch, and oh god, what is she? Some kind of lovesick teenager? Is she going ask him to go steady, or proudly wear his homecoming ring, or whatever it is that Americans do? Share one milkshake using two straws? No, even as a teenager she’d never acted like this, melting over a few barely flirtatious texts.

It’s something different.

She types two messages in quick succession and shoots them off before she can second guess herself.

_No reminders necessary._

_But not unwelcome._

This time, it’s a full five minutes before he sends his reply.

_Noted._

She throws her phone across the couch and buries her face into the warm softness of the cushion, her scream muffled by the fabric.

It’s torture.

Maybe someday in the future, Rey will see that she was exaggerating, being overly dramatic, but from the moment she steps back into the campaign offices on Monday morning, it is nothing but fucking torture.

She hasn’t been at her desk in what feels like forever, and every moment she sits there, answering phone call after phone call, she feels a little bit more of her sanity slipping. She recites _Ben Solo’s office_ so many times that by noon, when she takes her lunch break, the words no longer hold any meaning for her. After all, she thinks, perhaps a little crazily, what is an office? For that matter, what is a Ben, or a Solo?

She knocks on the door and lets herself in, and, fuck her, how has she never noticed before how good he looks in a suit? It’s the only thing she can think about.

He glances up from a folder and walks halfway around his desk. “Rey,” he says, his voice deep and rumbling, and her brain short-circuits.

”I’m just taking my lunch break.” Rey can scarcely meet his eyes, which is - mortifying. “Jannah will be screening your calls until I get back.”

He nods. It seems, for a moment, like he might - “Thank you for letting me know,” he says, his eyes dropping back down to his papers.

She stands there for one more incredibly discomfiting moment before she turns on her heel and walks back to her desk.

She hadn’t imagined it, she’s sure of that, and the love bites on her neck prove as much. Yet in the morning, when she came in early and handed him a coffee, he had said nothing more than a quiet, “Thanks,” and left her to go sit at her post, wondering if she had done anything wrong.

Maybe he is having second thoughts, she thinks. Maybe he just doesn’t...like her. Maybe he was just really drunk and him texting her yesterday was him just gearing up for a way to let her down gently. Maybe he has been replaced by an evil version of himself and the real Ben Solo is trapped in the attic of his condo like that scene in _Primer _that had made her so weirdly terrified. If he even has a condo - she has no idea where he actually lives.

_Maybe he’s just busy_, the calm, rational part of her brain whispers, but that still doesn’t make the sick, anxious feeling in her stomach go away. Because -

Because the horrible, embarrassing, inexplicable fact of the matter is that she likes him. Actually really likes him, as a person, beyond physical attraction, and maybe has possibly imagined doing mundane things with him like going grocery shopping or standing in line at the bank, which is somehow infinitely more humiliating to consider the implications of than just wanting to have sex. Because she has never done mundane things with someone like that, aside from Finn or Rose on occasion, and it’s petrifying and past all reason and definitely past the limits of her own imagination.

And yet, she thinks. And yet.

At the end of the day, when her sanity has been stretched thin and poorly wrung out to dry, when she has nearly convinced herself that she made the whole thing up as part of a fever dream she had after falling into some kind of coma due to campaign-related stress, Ben calls her into his office.

She takes her sweet time about going in there, moving at half-speed as she gathers her things together, closing out of her email and shutting down her computer. She walks in to Ben standing in front of his desk, leaning casually, hands folded over the edge.

She stands in the doorway, eyeing him warily.

”Close the door,” he murmurs.

It’s like someone switched a light on in her body. Except: instead of a light it’s a zap of electricity and instead of someone switching it on they are pulling on one of those giant levers, like in _Frankenstein_. She feels, she realizes, like she _is_ Frankenstein, the monster, not the man, like she was laying dormant and now that a one-eyed hunchback has pulled that big lever she’s up and moving around, corporeally, only she is voiceless and bloody and empty of everything save her own need. Confusion and hunger and want and want and want. She is a thing, not a woman.

She closes the door and steps further into the room. She thinks: _it’s alive, it’s alive!_ “Yes, sir?”

Something changes in his eyes. “You shouldn’t call me that,” he says lowly.

It’s probably the way he tells her no, like it’s a challenge. Rey has never been able to resist a challenge. It’s half the reason why she got into politics. “Why not?” she asks, a little querulous.

His gaze is fixed on her. ”Because if you call me that again, I am not going to be able to control anything about the way I react.”

She should really be more ashamed of the way she squeezes her legs together at that. She nods, mute.

”I wanted to get your opinion on this,” Ben continues. He holds a folder out to her, watching as she crosses the room to take it. His fingers brush against hers as it leaves his grasp, and she will not shiver. This is not a children’s movie, and a hand touch is not under-the-radar code for sex.

Except that it sure as hell feels like it is.

She clears her throat as she looks through the papers and titters. “Looks like there’s a slight bump, but it’s not a statistically significant increase.” She glances up at him, and he’s just - looking at her. Searching her face. She clears her throat again, tucking stray hairs back behind her ears. “Why would you want me to look over this?”

”I didn’t,” he says, and there is suddenly his hand on her, his fingers slipping under the waistband of her skirt to tug her forward. She automatically obeys the silent command, stepping closer. “It’s an excuse.”

”An excuse for what?” She is going to go insane. She is going to go completely mad and end up shooting someone’s wife and chasing him across the arctic and groaning about eating brains for the rest of her days. If that’s even what happens; she hasn’t seen _Frankenstein_ in years.

”An excuse to get you in here,” he says quietly.

”That’s -“ Rey can’t think with his hands on her waist like this, his thumb digging into the hollow of her hip through her clothes. She remembers his hard on pressed in that same place, his knee between her knees, and swallows hard. “That’s a lot of effort. You know, I work right there.”

”I’ve been going crazy.” He is moving his thumb back and forth, rubbing into her so much so she thinks, absurdly, he might break through to bone. “I - all day, I kept thinking about - imagining -“ He pauses, hesitating. "Do you feel it, too?"

Rey doesn’t know if she can answer. Or speak, period. She nods, perhaps a little more frantically than before.

”Because I - I don’t normally do - fuck,_ anything_ like this, but it’s like the second you walked in -“

She is a monster full of nothing but need and hunger and desire, and she cannot listen for one more second. She slams his stupid folder on his desk, grabs his face, and then she is finally kissing him, or he is kissing her, and, for the first time since Saturday, she breathes easy.

Without the haze of alcohol fogging her mind, she can really appreciate a few things she had not been able to fully enjoy previously.

One is how incongruously innocent he is with his hands, something that she is sure will soon drive her up the wall, but something welcome nonetheless, something wholly expected. He steers clear of anything overtly sexual, keeping his touches focused on her hips, the small of her back, and it’s nice, it’s so sweet and god damn adorable she wonders exactly how he developed a reputation for being terrifying when he’s really like this under all his bluster.

Two is the way his mouth moves in hers, half of the time gentle and soft, the other half rough and demanding, like he is fighting her instead of kissing her, like his weapon of choice is his tongue and he is playing to win.

Three is - everything about him. Just everything. The way he bites her lower lip, the way he engulfs her body in his arms, the way he shivers when she runs her nails through his hair. It’s a little overwhelming, but she can’t help it, the little noises she lets slip against his lips.

This kiss is slower than their first, less intense; it feels like a slow, rolling wave in her gut, building up mercilessly until she’s desperate to let it crash. She can feel herself getting wetter and wetter the longer it goes on, and suddenly his hands are insistent, tugging her hair out of her sensible updo so he can run his fingers through it, tightening on her waist, and she wonders, for one all-consuming, half-crazed moment, if he will knock everything on his desk to the floor and take her right there in his office, where he yells at people on the phone and sends faxes and enumerates all the beautiful elements of statistics. In front of God and all of his nice fountain pens.

She pulls away from him with a gasp. Ben chases her mouth for a second, his eyes unfocused, until she presses her hand to his chest.

”I thought,” she whispers after a moment, “I thought you were - ignoring me or something. Like maybe you regretted -“

”Rey, you have -“ He chuckles mirthlessly, sucks in a breath through his teeth. “You have no idea. The shit I’ve thought about. It’s - it’s not work appropriate. It’s not decent.”

“Oh,” she says. It’s such a small sound. Her fingers are still stroking through his hair, and he leans into the contact, letting his eyes flutter shut.

It’s with a rush of something like dread that she realizes she could - that she might -

“You should come over,” she says abruptly. “To my apartment. If you - if that’s something you want.”

For a second, Ben is quiet, like he’s processing her words. Then, he smiles. “When?” he asks. “Tonight?”

She shakes her head, and he looks so put out for a moment, she can’t help but kiss the expression off his face. “No, I think maybe it’ll be best if you come over when I don’t have to go to work at 7 AM the next day.”

It doesn’t take him as long to catch her meaning at that. He ducks his head, nipping at her chin. “You can come in whenever you want, sweetheart.”

”I don’t think that the politicians who call here will be so patient with me,” she says.

”Fuck them."

”Saturday.” The moment she names the day she regrets it, but she’s already said it and she’s not going to go back on her word. She is not weak, she will not cave and let him come over tonight, no matter how much she wants to take it back, no matter how much his hand drifting up and down her spine makes her want to drag him bodily to her bedroom.

He opens his mouth, seeming for a moment like he might argue with her, and she almost welcomes it, she’s almost ready for him to convince her, but he just smiles slightly. “If you insist.”

_Tell him you changed your mind_, part of her is screaming, but Rey manages to ignore it. She steps away from the circle of his embrace, smoothing carefully over her blouse and skirt. Ben watches, a glint of enjoyment lighting on his face.

”Let me,“ he says, crooking his finger at her throat. Her hand flies to the silk tie knotted there, checking to make sure it hasn’t come undone.

Ben moves closer to her, gazing down, and she thinks she might need to go to confession for this, the kinds of things she’s thinking. She isn’t even Catholic. With one gentle tug, he loosens the bow enough to inspect the little bruises dotting her skin. He traces them with the tips of his fingers, something like wonder in his eyes. “Did I do that?”

”You were a little...enthusiastic.” She is acutely aware that she can’t remember the last time she orgasmed.

”You look like you were the victim of a very indecisive vampire.”

”Who says I wasn’t?” He’s still distracted, examining his handiwork, when Rey finally musters up the strength to move away completely. “I need to go home,” she reminds him softly, re-knotting the ties at her neck with a deft hand. 

”Alright,” he says at long last, stepping back to his desk. “I’ll let you leave.”

”How very generous of you.”

”It is.” His voice is sly, eyes shining with amusement. “If I had it my way, you wouldn’t.”

”Good thing it’s not your way,” she says faintly, choosing not to mention the fact that that doesn’t sound so intolerable.

Ben nods, the shape of his mouth still belying some lingering satisfaction. “Good thing," he says.

She could kill him. She doesn't think she's been satisfied for weeks, months - her whole life. Hunger, want, and need in the form of a person.

Walking to her car, Rey feels strange, off kilter. Like the world has tilted ever so slightly to the left, or like all of the leaves on the trees are winking and bending in time, like dancers in a chorus. But it’s just this feeling in her chest, expanding outwards through her body.

It's just her. And him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The water before you is somehow special. It is better than anything you have ever tasted. Every drink is better than the last. Take a drink now.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SilYsr_3vrA)


	13. you do me better than i do me

_ I need something. _

Okay, is there something specific?

_ I don't fucking know, I just need something! _

** 13\. you do me better than i do me**

The studio in Philadelphia was the place she stayed the longest.

She left England at eighteen; everything she owned, all of her worldly possessions from the time she was a child, fit into her one suitcase. It was the summer, but it didn’t feel like it. It never really did in Jakku, that gray, damp misery of a town.

Rey feels, sometimes, like that same girl. In her worse moments, she wonders how quickly she could pack the contents of her life in Washington, how fast she could get out of dodge.

Every day when she gets home, Rey finds the stark bareness of her walls, the startling lack of anything personal, to be a more and more confronting sight.

It's like, she realizes one night, sitting alone in her front room to eat her microwaved dinner, no one even lives there.

The week drags, and by the middle of it she is starting to regret the whole thing. The whole _waiting_ thing. The whole, _oh yeah, I probably shouldn't have sex with a man that I work with/for in his office in his own mother's campaign headquarters no matter how much I may want to_ thing.

Not that Ben is making it any easier on her. If he'd been just this side of a little too touchy-feely before they kissed, he's only gotten bolder since it happened. He takes to stroking his hand between her shoulder blades as he passes her desk, letting his touch linger a moment too long when passing her papers, tucking the stray hairs at her temples behind her ears when he thinks no one is paying attention. He's worse when they're alone - stealing kisses against his locked door, running his hand dangerously high up her leg while she half-heartedly swats it away, trying to wreck her hairstyle at every opportunity, so much so that by Wednesday afternoon she has to redo it every time she leaves his office.

She feels like she isn't getting any work done; she has no idea how he's faring. By Friday, she is ready to crawl out of her skin or maybe spontaneously combust. Her obituary, she thinks, will read: _Died tragically from lack of getting some_.

All of this is to explain why she ends up straddling Ben in his desk chair during what should be his lunch break.

It started out innocently enough. Rey came into the office to deliver an expletive laden anonymous message. Ben had gotten them since he first started on Leia’s campaign, and since Finn had also been specifically been named as a _traitor_ in one or two of the calls she knew some of them came from people at the West Wing. It wasn't new, but she noticed it had gotten much worse recently. She used to just hang up the moment it became clear it wasn’t a serious call, but the one time Ben heard one of them screaming at Rey through the receiver, he’d demanded she record every single word on paper, phone numbers and dates included, and hand-deliver all threats directly to him.

”That way,” he’d said, “when we get Senator Organa into office, I know exactly who I am going to fucking annihilate.”

She still hangs up on them sometimes, the ones that are too hard for her to listen to, but that doesn’t stop the calls from coming.

When Rey went in with yet another harassing message, slipping it silently onto his desk, she hadn’t expected him to grab her by the wrist and tug her onto the chair with him. The door was closed, the blinds drawn the way they always were, and it didn’t take much more than his tongue in her mouth to convince her to stay there long past the time she should've gone.

Ben is some strange mix of thorough and lazy as he kisses her, his hands slow and unhurried in their exploration of her body, his mouth focused and meticulous in the sounds he wrings out of her. He’s hard underneath her, and has been since she spread her legs. Rey had to ruck her skirt up to her hips to sit astride him without tearing the fabric, and, despite the fact that she’s fully clothed, it’s probably the most compromising position she’s ever found herself in, to say nothing of the fact that it’s her place of work. She should feel more ashamed about that, she knows; she should feel like the harlot one of her old foster mothers always accused her of being.

Instead, she can’t focus on anything apart from the way he’s groaning softly into her mouth, the ache she feels low in her stomach every time she brushes against his erection with the apex of her thighs. It isn’t long before his hands have slid down to grip her ass, gently guiding her to rock up and down on his lap, and that’s new, she thinks. And very interesting. 

When the first breathy little moan escapes her, he stops moving completely. It takes all of what’s left of her reason to stop herself from whining at the loss of sensation.

”You can’t be loud, sweetheart,” he murmurs against her lips.

Rey shudders, and she can feel his smirk against her skin as he starts sliding her over his hard on again, slower than before.

The next time she whimpers, he shuts her up with a kiss, delving into her mouth with his tongue. She’s started grinding down onto him without any kind of encouragement from his hands, leveraging herself on his shoulders, and she can feel him getting harder under her with every single movement.

When he claps a hand over her lips after a particularly noisy moan, it seems to be as much of a surprise to him as it is to her.

Rey moans again, on purpose this time. The sound is enveloped in his palm. His fingers flex, seemingly involuntarily, around her jaw.

”Be quiet,” he warns, but if there was originally meant to be caution in the sentiment, it’s lost to the open, panting lust in his features. He bends his head and presses a kiss to the space under her chin; it’s gentle, almost absurdly so, that kiss. It makes something drop like lead in the pit of her stomach. “You have to be quiet.”

Rey doesn’t know why she ever tried to convince herself that sex is nothing but disappointment because _this_? This is going to destroy her. She will never be able to look at him again without hearing his voice low in her ear, his hand pressed against her open mouth as she writhes on top of him, and he isn't even fucking her.

She nods, but he doesn’t take his hand away. He keeps rocking her back and forth, back and forth, letting his hand on her back on her circle to the front of her body. When his thumb brushes against her panties through her tights, she jolts.

”You have to be quiet,” he says again, and his hand flickers away to safer terrain, sliding up to her waist.

There’s something building up in her, only it’s not a slow, rolling tide, pleasure cresting like a wave - it’s an inferno burning through her, making her shake and roll her hips desperately against the length of him. She can’t think. She can’t breathe. If someone asks her what her name is, she’ll probably have to plead the fifth.

She can tell she’s getting louder and louder even through the muffle of his palm, and it seems to break something in Ben the longer it goes on, like this is something she's doing him rather than the other way around. She grabs at his suit jacket, clutching it with her fingers so strongly it hurts, because she has to hold onto something, she has to -

”Are you going to -“ he gasps out as she tenses on top of him, his fingers curling so tight around her middle she thinks she’ll bruise. “Fuck, are you -“

Rey can’t process anything but how he’s touching her, this horrible, devastating feeling between her legs, and the way she is going to demolish everything between them and enjoy it. Enjoy the wreckage. When she comes, divested of not a single piece of clothing, she swears she can feel his heartbeat pounding in her own chest. As if he’s already worked his way inside her, like he’s already managed to bury himself under her skin.

She falls apart in his arms, and it's horrible, it's the worst thing she's ever done, and she will not take back a single second of it.

As she drifts back into awareness, it's to Ben watching her, open-mouthed, his breathing as labored as if he'd just run a marathon. "Fuck you,” he manages. "Did you just -" He can't seem to bring himself to finish the thought. Rey nods, and he lets his head drop against her shoulder. "Fuck you," he murmurs again, and it sounds like he is accusing her. He doesn’t seem too displeased with her, though. "You're going to _ruin_ me."

She doesn't say anything to that. She doesn't say, _you've already ruined me. _She tilts her head and kisses the smile off his face.

Rey stands on shaking legs, tugs her skirt back down, and hastily fixes her hair. Looking down, she can see that he's torn a run in her stockings. It trails past her knee, past her hemline. Evidence, she thinks. Like a pool of blood after a murder. Ben doesn't say a word; he just watches her.

"You - I - I’m going to go back to my desk now.“ She may never be able to look him in the eye after this, but even through the veil of her lashes she can see the way he is staring at her. Like he would like nothing better than to mess her up all over again. Like she is a tower of champagne glasses, and he wants nothing more than to take a cup right from the middle.

She makes herself walk out of his office before she sits back down and lets him.

He texts her that afternoon, while she's at her desk.

_That was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen._

_I want you._

_All of you._

Rey doesn't respond. When she says good night before leaving work, she lets her fingertips brush over his shoulders, through the hair that curls gently over his shirt collar. She lets him catch her fingers in his own and hold them for just a moment too long.

When she gets home, she makes herself come to the memory of it: his hands on her thighs, his voice in her ear. She lays on her back, her blouse unbuttoned and tugged open enough to expose her breasts to the cool air, her stockings pulled halfway down her legs, fingers deep in her cunt.

She closes her eyes when she finishes, and all she can see is Ben.

Rose and Jannah drag her to a flea market on Saturday morning. Rey kind of regrets introducing them to each other, in a half-guilty way that makes her feel like a piece of shit just for thinking it. Because, deep down, she doesn't like that they could end up being closer with each other than either of them are with her. Like she will be pushed out, shoved from another family photo.

She barely pays attention to the conversation as they stroll through the stalls. Rey laughs when it seems like they might be expecting a laugh, frowns when it seems like they might be expecting a frown. Rose, she gathers, is worrying over whether or not Finn will propose, and if she'll even say yes if he does because, after all, she's still young, with her entire life ahead of her. Jannah doesn't know where she might apply for a job if Leia loses the election, because there's no point in staying on as Amilyn's assistant if it can't get her anywhere further.

"Rey?"

She blinks. They are standing in the middle of a stall that seems to be filled exclusively with creepy Victorian porcelain figurines. One of them stares blankly at Rey, her eyes a bright, unsettling blue. The lower half of her face is missing.

Rose hooks her arm through Rey's, pulling her past the dolls. "Honey, are you okay this morning? You seem distracted."

"I -" She can't tell them anything. It's all well and good to flirt with your boss, have a crush, move on - it's quite another to act on it. She doesn’t know what reaction would be worse: disappointment or overexcitement. She can’t say anything about it when it’s all so very - in limbo. "I just feel weird,” she settles on. “Surrounded by all this stuff."

Jannah furrows her brow. "What do you mean?"

"I feel like - I've been living in hotels for so long, and when I got back I just realized I don't actually own anything. I don't have any decorations, I don't have any art or lots of old books." She doesn’t really know until she says it aloud that she’s telling the truth. She thinks of a photograph of Padme Amidala, a mountain of old records, a home that's been lived in. With memories coloring every inch. She thinks about what Ben will see when he goes to her apartment: a woman waiting for a chance to cut and run. Or, even more horribly: a woman who isn’t really a person yet. "I've been looking all morning for something to buy, but it's like every time I try to imagine bringing something home with me, I just keep picturing all the ways that it could be wrong. Not using it, or not liking it, or realizing it doesn't fit quite as well as I thought it would. And then I get worried that I might waste all this time and money on the wrong thing. I just -" Rey feels, almost, like she's about to cry. How strange. She swipes the back of her hand across her face and breathes, slow and measured. "I'm used to wanting things, but I'm not used to actually going out and getting them."

Rose looks at her seriously for a while, long enough that Rey starts to feel uncomfortable under the intensity of her gaze. Eventually, she shakes her head slightly. "If you keep worrying about all the little things that might be wrong,” she says, “if you keep imagining the worst case scenario, you'll never buy anything. Your apartment will be just as empty as if you bought and threw out the wrong thing. And if you keep focusing on the bad stuff, you might miss out on something really nice." She picks up a vintage tea set, the kind of object that seems like an heirloom, like it has a history of its own. The kettle is chipped around its edges, the two matching cups painted with blooming flowers that are faded from the light. “Try it out. Let yourself get something.”

Jannah smiles, bumping Rey in the arm. "Just pick something small, and go from there,” she adds. “Your apartment will be fucking fabulous in no time."

”Yeah,” Rey says. She nods, a little more confident than before. “Okay.”

She ends up buying more than she thought she would: the tea set, a used Bluetooth speaker, a series of floral illustrations that seemed to have been ripped straight out of various field guides, and a prickly little plant that the stall keeper helpfully describes as _impossible to kill_.

She only kind of regrets the amount of money she spends on it all. She decides to call that growth.

Rey spends the afternoon obsessively cleaning, straightening and re-straightening the clothes in her closet, rearranging her furniture and, when she decides it was better the way it was before, arranging it all back. She hangs up the illustrations she got using pushpins in the drywall, sets up the plant in a little patch of sunlight on her sill, and wastes forty-five minutes on the internet trying to figure out how to work the speaker (when she eventually succeeds, she can’t help but yell in triumph). She pretends not to notice the way the clock ticks closer and closer to 8, when Ben said he’d drive over.

When the knock comes at 7:53, she nearly jumps out of her skin. The walk to the door feels like a dream, like she's moving through molasses, like the closer she gets, the further away it is. She feels oddly nervous, anxious all of a sudden about the way she's dressed. Is it too casual? Jeans and a semi-nice looking cardigan had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she second guesses every single stitch. Should she have shoes on to answer the door? Does he expect her to have some kind of snack waiting, or drinks? Does he expect to stay the night? Should she have bought another toothbrush so he doesn't have to use the pink spare she has in her bathroom cabinet? What should she even call this, even just in her brain? A hook-up? An affair?

A date?

Before she can turn around and text him that she's developed last minute food poisoning, she's at the door.

She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and opens it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [and i'm asking you to hold me just like the morning paper: pinched between your pointer, your index and your thumb](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0kiNesQpmE)


	14. alright, i wanted to fuck your brains out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOO MUCH DIALOGUE I'M SORRY

_ And now you're trying to fuck me tonight! _

No, I _am_ fucking you tonight!

_ No, I'm gonna fuck  _ you_! _

** 14\. alright, i wanted to fuck your brains out**

The first thing she thinks when she opens the door is that she is not in any way ready for this. Any of it.

Because she has had sex before. She is a grown woman, obviously, and she has had men over to her apartment, and she has been with them, conjugally speaking. She has even sort of liked some of the things they have done to her, but _Ben_. He is -

_Devastating._ In a word.

He is wearing jeans. _Jeans._ A ribbed black sweater than clings to the muscles in his arms, and, Jesus Christ, makes her want to jump his bones right in the hallway. Does he have abs, underneath all those layers he normally wears? Because it is starting to seem like he has abs. And there are trainers on his feet, which is just completely bonkers, for a number of reasons. Does anyone but her know that he even owns a pair of trainers? Is such a thing even possible?

She is dimly aware of the fact that she’s just been staring at him for way too long when he finally clears his throat. 

”Can I come in?” He asks the question like, by the end of it, he is not really sure anymore what her answer might be.

”Yes,” she finally says, perhaps slightly too loud. “Yeah, please, come on - over.” _Oh, god._

He steps into her apartment, walking past her into the front room, and what does she normally do with her arms? Do they stay at her sides? Does she cross them? She settles on folding them across her chest, but decides after a moment of thought that this could be perceived as standoffish and drops them back down again.

Ben turns around and looks at her, his expression inscrutable.

Before she can stop herself, she blurts out, “It’s so empty, I know, it’s - I just decorated. Do you want coffee? Or beer? I think I have some Yuenglings somewhere, I don’t really like IPAs. You seem like you’d like IPAs, I could run down to the store and -“

He interrupts before she can spiral any further. “You don’t need to do that. I was just thinking everything looks really nice. I like the - pictures. That you put up. And I’m good with whatever you have. Or want to do.”

She deflates a little. ”Oh.”

The issue is she has no idea what to do. What does one normally do when they find themselves about to maybe possibly have sexual congress with a Man? A Man who is also her Boss?

She watches Ben as he stands in the middle of her living room. He opens and closes his hands, looking everywhere but at her. Like he is in unfamiliar territory, mapping out the terrain. Like he is...nervous.

Rey feels something flutter in her heart like a bird trapped in a cage. “Do you want to just sit down for a little bit?” she asks.

He seems visibly relieved, and Rey smiles, tentatively. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Her smile widens. “Go ahead, I’ll open a few beers.”

When she gets back from her little kitchenette, two open bottles ready, Ben has already taken a seat on her couch, his legs crossed uncomfortably. She wonders if the sofa's too close to the ground. Based on the way his knees are bent at a dramatic angle, she’d guess yes.

Now that the initial shock is over, Rey can fully enjoy the sight of him like this. His dark hair is brushed back from his face, mussed and waving like he’s been running his hands through it. His brown eyes seem brighter than usual, but his lips are as full and sinful as ever. She thinks, hazily, that maybe she should try sitting on his face. 

Which is as instinct she has never felt so strongly before, so, there is that.

”Here.” She passes him one of the glasses and sits next to him, not one part of their bodies in contact. “The drive here wasn't too bad?”

”Yeah.” He traces the edge of the label with his thumb. Rey swallows, watching the way it curves over the Y.

There is a silence that stretches on for far too long.

”Okay, this is awkward,” she says after a minute.

Ben makes like he’s about to stand. ”I can go if you -“

”No!” The syllable is shockingly loud leaving her mouth. Rey has no clue what is wrong with her. She feels dumbstruck, clumsy and fumbling, as if she were still a -

A _virgin_.

Rey furrows her brow. Maybe Madonna was onto something.

Based on the way Ben is staring at her, she wonders if he is feeling the same way.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” she declares, adjusting her position to look him at him fully. “I am going to put on some music because I just spent 20 dollars purchasing a speaker for that exact purpose, we’re going to drink, and we’ll -“

”Get to know each other better?” he guesses.

”I was going to say get to know each other carnally, but that works too.”

That startles a laugh out of Ben, and Rey relaxes minutely. He nods and takes a pull from his drink. “Yeah, that’s - yeah.”

Rey puts on some background music and cracks open her beer, taking a long sip. Ben keeps looking at her from the corner of his eye, his eyes tracking the movement in her throat.

”Belle and Sebastian?” he says.

”Hmm?”

”What you’re playing. You like Belle and Sebastian?”

Rey shrugs. ”Sure. What’s not to like?”

”Nothing,” he says, with the faintest hint of a smirk. “It’s just so...British of you.”

”And what’s wrong with being British?” she asks, mock angry.

”Well, for starters, you’re in America, so everything is wrong with that.”

”I find that highly offensive.”

”Go ahead, be offended. I won’t stop you.”

”I suppose you prefer American music. Like Keith Urban.”

”And Kid Rock, sure.”

”And you love setting off fireworks without any safety precautions.”

”Indoors, naturally. Now you’re getting it.”

”And watching dinners in front of the TV with microwaveable meals.” She pauses, frowning. “Although I think I actually just described my dinner yesterday.”

A smile flashes over his face. ”Or mine.”

”I thought it seemed like you know how to cook.”

”Oh, I do." Ben stretches his arm over the back of her couch. That seems to be his _move_, as it were. There's enough space between them that his reach doesn't quite extend to her, but it's a close thing. Maybe she should move nearer - "It’s just not worth the hassle sometimes. You know, cooking for one person. You have to use pots and pans, olive oil, some kind of meat. Cut up some fruit if you don’t want scurvy. And you eat it in like fifteen minutes, then you have to run the dishwasher. It’s a whole event.”

Rey mutters, distracted by his fingertips grazing her arm, ”I don’t have a dishwasher.”

”I’m sorry to hear that.”

”So was I.”

”I’ll probably never want to cook anything here then, just a fair warning.”

She tries to ignore the sudden pleasure she feels at his words, the implication he might be here again. ”Who says I would let you within five feet of my kitchen?”

”I’m pretty sure I_ am_ within five feet of your kitchen.”

Rey scooches over, shoving him to the other end of the couch. “Now you’re not.”

Ben goes easily, grinning wide despite himself. His hand drops onto her shoulder, and Rey settles into his side, contented. And now her heart is beating loud and fast in her chest, thrilling at something so chaste as an arm around her, and yeah, she might as well admit it - she's acting like a fucking teenager. ”There is nothing to stop me from getting up and walking over. What do you have? I can cook something right now.”

”No," she protests, "you’ll make something healthy like vegetables, and then I’ll feel bad about the fact that I never eat them.”

He stops smiling at that and leans back a bit to look at her, concern lighting on his face. He seems, bless him, genuinely worried. “You never eat vegetables?”

Rey sighs. "Well, sometimes, yeah, of course I do. But I don’t like it.”

”You probably just aren’t making them right. You need really good seasoning and you should roast them on the stovetop when you can, not just stick them in a dish in the microwave.”

”That’s exactly what Finn and Rose are always telling me, but I don’t believe them.”

”You should, seasoning is not a trick of the devil the way you seem to think it is.”

She sniffs. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

”I probably couldn’t make anything in your kitchen anyway," Ben admits, his fingers trailing down her upper arm, fitting her elbow into his palm.

”And why not?”

”You don’t have any kosher meat," he explains. "I’m betting you eat bacon, too, right? Shrimp? Cheeseburgers?”

Rey narrows her eyes, trying not to give anything away. ”Maybe," she says slowly.

”Then I couldn’t use any of your dishes, and therein lies the problem.”

”So you’re very religious then? You don't seem like the type.”

”Oh, no, not at all," he says. "It’s just my mother would be able to sense it across a vast distance, and then I’d never hear the end of it. I'd rather avoid that.”

”So no tattoos either then, right?”

”Not a one.”

”Well, there goes my plans for the evening.”

”I mean, _you_ can always go get a tattoo if you want, we just couldn’t be buried together.”

Rey can't help her smile at the seriousness of his words. ”So we're getting buried together now?”

”Yeah, was that - were my intentions not obvious? We’re getting buried together.”

”Maybe we should just start with a drink.”

“Maybe," he agrees vaguely. "You know, I think we did all of this backwards.”

”All of what?”

He gestures between them, around the room: _everything_. “This. It’s meet, drinks, dinner, kiss, sex, orgasm. We did it all backwards.”

She shrugs, trying not to flush at the flat affect of his voice, the almost surgically clinical way he says _orgasm_. ”So we did meet, kiss, orgasm, drinks. That’s not so out of order. And I didn’t - really mind it so much. Yesterday.”

He stares at her, and Rey can't think anymore. She barely registers him saying, ”Yeah, me neither.”

”Can I tell you something?” she asks before she can convince herself not to, setting her bottle down on the coffee table.

”Sure.”

”It’s very - embarrassing.”

”That doesn’t bother me.”

”No," she laughs, "I mean, I will tell you if you first tell me something embarrassing about you.”

”Oh god, there’s so much to choose from.” He seems to think deeply about it for a moment. “Oh okay, how about this: when I first started working in D.C., I was referred to almost exclusively as _Leia’s boy_. By everyone. Including people younger than me.”

Rey tries not to smile. She really does. ”No one calls you that now, do they?”

He shrugs. ”Not to my face anyway."

”Did you murder the last person who did it?"

”Almost," Ben says. "I did get him fired, but not for that. He wasn't very good at his job.”

”Who was it?”

”Armitage Hux.”

”No," she gasps.

”Yes," he says, nodding gravely.

”And that’s why he hates you?”

”Hux hates me because I’m taller than him.”

"Well, I can't say that I blame him for that, you are unusually tall."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he says, straightening his back to sit up higher. "So what was your embarrassing thing, then?"

Rey blinks. "What?"

"The thing you wanted to tell me," he prompts.

"Oh. That." She is not going to blush because despite Madonna's preternatural lyrical accuracy, she is not actually a virgin. "I was just - Yesterday. When that happened, it was - the first time, for me. Doing that in front of someone else."

Ben seems...deeply confused. "What? Dry humping?"

"I've never come in front of anyone else," she rushes to explain. "I mean, I've had sex, I've just never had - _that_ \- happen."

He has that look on his face again, like he wants to eat her. Like he is _starving_. "So I -" Ben swallows hard, his gaze drifting to her lips. "I'm the only person whose ever seen that?"

She nods, her mouth gone suddenly dry. 

The hand not on her shoulder puts down his drink and lifts achingly slow to the top button of her cardigan. He undoes it without looking away from her, and Rey clenches her thighs together. _Fuck._

"What you did yesterday, that was...bad." Another button. Rey is frozen in place, watching Ben's fingers as they slide down her torso, exposing the black lace of her bra. "Very bad."

"Was it?"

"Fucking filthy,” he continues, his voice gone all low and dirty. She is going to die. He is going to kill her. Her obituary will read: _Died tragically from excitement over finally getting some_. “Coming all over me like that. I couldn't do anything the rest of the day. I couldn’t fucking sleep.”

"I - I could be good," she murmurs as Ben opens the folds of her sweater. He slips it off her shoulders, throwing the fabric somewhere behind the sofa. He dips his head, mouthing his way across her collarbone. "For you."

"You already are, letting me touch you." The words are murmured into her skin as he leans forward, nudging her until she's on her back, Ben still dotting kisses all over her chest. Rey tenses up when he licks her nipple through the lace, a soft whimper escaping despite her best efforts. "I've been thinking about this. Dreaming about it."

She has to know. “For how long?"

"When you first came into my office. Wearing that tight fucking skirt, silk blouse. Ridiculous buns in your hair.” She remembers that outfit - a black A-line skirt, a red top with shining white buttons. The fact of her painted nails, how in the morning she’d obsessed over her three buns to make sure they looked perfect, hoping, somewhat foolishly, to impress. The way his eyes had slid right past her and then snapped back to her face after a beat. The way he’d been careful not to let his hand touch hers when handing her the folder. And then, later, how he’d loved when she argued, his eyes bright with restrained excitement at every insult spilling from her lips. “I thought I was being punished for something, this _temptation_ waltzing in. I wanted to tie you up. Every time I looked at you, I wanted - I pictured the most obscene things.”

”Like what?” It comes out softer than she intended, barely more than a whisper. Ben looks up, his eyes dark and intent, and Rey shivers.

”I’ll show you,” he says, and tilts his head to kiss her.

It’s different than before, his mouth on hers - hungrier, harsher. Like they both know it’s leading somewhere and they are both equally desperate to get there as fast as possible. It’s not long before she’s gasping and moaning into the kiss, satisfied when Ben can’t help but groan in response. Her hips lift up of their own accord, pressing into his, and Ben shoves her back down to the cushion, keeping her still as he grinds into her center. She should probably not find that as hot as she does, she thinks distantly. She should probably not be doing this kind of thing with her boss, and yet, here she is, doing it, and liking it. Liking the way he keeps her in his grip, not letting her writhe the way she wants to so very much, liking the way he keeps palming her tits with his giant hands, liking the feeling of his tongue inside her mouth, thick and heavy, liking the feeling of his cock getting stiffer between them. She wants that inside her, too.

Kissing Ben is like a plane crash on the freeway at rush hour: a god damn disaster.

She almost jumps out of her skin when his hand first starts toying with her zipper.

”Let me,” he says into her lips.

Rey nods, closing her eyes. She feels the slow click of the zipper, the agonizing slide of her pants down her legs. 

There is a pause, and then: ”Are you wearing matching underwear?”

Rey opens her eyes to find Ben staring at her, his expression unreadable. She shifts, suddenly uncertain. “I wanted to look nice. I don’t normally put in this level of effort, and if you’re just going to make fun -“

”No, I’m not, I promise,” he says hurriedly, his hands nudging her legs open. Despite herself, Rey obeys the order, spreading her thighs apart. “You just didn’t seem like the type to do that, and I didn’t expect it, and it’s getting me a little - worked up.”

She relaxes an inch. “I thought you’d like black.”

”Yes.” His hand is sliding up the inside of her thigh, tracing over the bump of her hipbone before brushing, feather light, over the gusset of her panties. “I like that.”

Rey squeaks, her hips jumping up, and Ben pushes her back down, rubbing her idly through the cloth. “And lace,” she manages.

He smirks, pleased as punch. She wants to kiss the expression off his handsome, terrible face. “That too.” He bites his way into her mouth again before he tugs the scrap of fabric aside. When he slips a finger through the slickness of her folds, he groans openly, a sound that makes something flip in the pit of her stomach. “You’re wetter than I thought you’d be.”

”Yeah.” She’s having a hard time keeping her voice steady with the way he’s circling her clit, slipping the tip of his finger inside her for a moment. "So?"

”You’re fucking hot,” he growls.

She huffs out a laugh that strangles into a moan when he slides his finger in further. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that in good faith.”

”They’re missing out.” He drags his hand away from her cunt and up her body, over the flat plane of her stomach, across the gentle curve of her waist, the soft peaks of her breasts. He tugs the flimsy cups of her bra down, dipping his head to mouth at her nipples. Rey squirms, letting out a breath that ends in a whine, and _this_, she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, is sex. This is the thing she’s been hearing so much about, the poetry and the films and the songs, the thing that drives people to love and destroy and rend things apart and stand pitifully out on the moors, howling at the moon. “Look at you,” he breathes before he kisses her again, “you fucking dream.”

There is something about his hands. Maybe it’s the size of them, or the raised ropes of his veins running under his skin. When he tears her panties down her legs, she feels another flood of wetness gush down the inside of her thighs; when he holds her to unclasp her bra, the width of his palm the same length across as her back, she wants to melt into a puddle of Rey-shaped lust.

He gets her naked, her cunt in his mouth, before he so much as takes off his shoes.

He holds her down with his forearm over her stomach as she bucks against his tongue, and it’s embarrassing, really, the kinds of noises he’s drawing out of her. She can hear herself like someone is talking to her from far away, her voice scratchy and stumbling over perfectly pronounceable words like _oh my god fuck you fuck me you fucking asshole oh god this is so oh god oh my god_, and, even when she starts keening and making sounds that have no phonological consistency whatsoever, Ben doesn’t let up.

She knew that mouth of his was made for something besides swearing creatively at political adversaries.

She comes without warning, her legs suddenly tensing around his shoulders, her hands pulling at his dark hair until she’s sure she must be hurting him, but he doesn’t complain. He moans against her pussy, the vibrations sending a shockwave straight through her. She’s clenching around nothing, her mouth open and, she’s certain, just making all kinds of embarrassing noises. Her hand is pressed over her eyes because she can’t look at him, not when he’s turned her into the porn-star version of herself twice in a 36 hour period.

And he still hasn’t taken off a single thing.

She's panting, trying to catch her breath, when Ben kisses her. Her eyes are screwed shut, and she can taste herself on his tongue, which should feel grosser than it does. Instead, it just makes her want to see how his dick will taste after he fucks her.

She opens her eyes right as he tugs his sweater off from the back of his neck, and, holy shit, the view is_ insane_.

”What the fuck?” she hears herself say.

Ben looks down at his chest, which is heaving from the exertion of making her come all over his stupidly handsome face. “What’s wrong?”

”That is what you look like? Are you kidding me?” While she speaks, Rey sits up, letting her hands run over the muscles of his abdomen, pleased with the way they twitch under her nails. “It’s like you were literally carved out of marble. Do you just, like, spend all of your free time at the gym?” She is glad for the fact that she seems to be enjoying a post-orgasm rush of clarity, if her sudden return to articulate commentary is any indication.

He lifts his shoulders in a _what-are-you-gonna-do_ shrug. ”Some of it, yeah.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you really implying that you mostly just look like this? Naturally?”

”I’m big.”

He is so deadly serious as he says it, that Rey can’t help but grin up at him, a lascivious edge to her voice as she teases, “All of you?”

Something changes in his eyes, a darkness growing in them that makes Rey feel like she should be thinking _oh shit_. Instead, she feels a tremor of excitement pulse through her, down her body to her cunt. “Want to see?” he asks, the sentence ending on a growl.

She doesn’t need to be asked twice. Rey jerks his belt open with shaking hands and tugs down his pants, along with his boxer-briefs. His cock springs out, and yeah, okay. Fuck him. Or fuck her, more accurately. Because holy shit, he is -

“Not too terrible,” she forces out, grinning at the annoyed furrow of his brow. The lines in his forehead smooth out just fine when she bends forward, opening her mouth around the head of his dick, letting her cheeks hollow as she works. She watches the way his eyes glaze over, the way his hands clutch the air beside her head like he wants to fist them in her hair. They hover there, useless, while she sucks his cock.

When his thighs start to shake from the effort of keeping himself in check, Ben finally pulls her off of him with a wet pop, hauling her to her knees on the sofa. She wonders, half-heartedly, if they should try to make it to her bed. Maybe another time. She's not interrupting one second of this, even for purely logistical reasons.

His lips are bitten red, eyes wild, and as he spins her around to bend her over the arm of the sofa she realizes _this_ is Ben out of control. ”I need to fuck you right now,” he snarls.

Rey glances back, watching as he rolls on a condom, her eyes drifting over the hard muscles of his stomach, the curve of his cock as he grips the base.

She thinks: _he's so fucking beautiful._ And then: _where the hell did that thought come from?_

He hauls her closer to him by the waist, his fingers stretching her open to his liking. He lets his hand linger over the curve of her ass as he lines himself up, the press of him against her wetness too much for a second. When she chances a look again, she can see his expression is as dazed as it was the first time they kissed. Except this is more than kissing. It’s more than just about everything.

His throat works as he swallows, as he leans over and pushes his way inside her, deeper and deeper, inch by inch. For a moment, she thinks it's been too long, it's too tight, he'll have to try a different angle, but, with a wet slide, he bottoms out inside her, his palm pressing down between her shoulder blades. Rey’s toes curl, her feet scrambling for purchase as he makes space for himself, as he fills her up, impossibly full. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs, seemingly to himself.

Rey lets her head tip back, brushing her cheek against his, lets something like gentleness slip into her voice when she whispers, “Me too."

When he starts to move in earnest, her vision almost whites out. She hears him groan, _Fuck_, as he pulls back out, pushes back in. He keeps saying her name over and over again, supplicating, _Rey Rey Rey fuck_.

Every thrust is rough, demanding more from her, demanding more and more and more, and it’s terrible, it’s awful how much she likes it, how much she wants to give him, how much room she wants to make. All the words that spill out of him now are graphically and spectacularly filthy, the kind of shit she’s pretty sure he could make a living peddling off to the sex-starved masses. Things like how he isn’t even sure how he fits in her tight hot cunt, how she’s probably never been this wet for anybody else and it’s all for him (_just for you_, she thinks she says in reply, if the volume of his groan is anything to go by), how he thought about doing this every time she bent over his desk and how he wanted to eat her pretty little pussy every god damn day and did she wear such tight skirts just to drive him crazy because if so it worked. Rey doesn’t say much of anything at all except for his name on a loop, _Ben Ben oh god Ben oh fuck Ben Ben Ben_. Every jolt of his hips makes her lose it just a little more, knocks the wind out of her until she’s breathless, chanting his name. One of them keeps gasping about how wet she is, she’s dripping down all over him, making a mess, but she can’t tell if it’s his voice or her own. There is some kind of worship in the way he thumbs over her clit, in the way he drapes himself across her back, in the ceaselessness of his voice, murmuring low and dark into her hair.

It isn’t long before she’s clenching around him again (there must be something wrong with her, she has never been this turned on in her life, she has never been so _not herself_, she has never been made into this shaking bundle of need the way he’s done to her), shivering, making a mess all over her thrift store sofa, all over him. She can feel his breath on the shell of her ear, his fingers digging into her hips as his thrusts get faster and harsher, and when he slows and shudders and spends himself inside her the only thought that enters her mind is:

_Well, fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [~ touched for the very first time ~](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s__rX_WL100)


	15. you’re just in the middle of what we americans call a fuck-fog

_ See, when people get near this they just want to do it. _

Oh, yeah.

_ Thank god you’re not trying to do me all the time._

** 15\. you’re just in the middle of what we americans call a fuck-fog**

He stays seated inside her for longer than she would have expected. His mouth is open and wet, smearing over her bare shoulder, when he finally pulls out. Rey feels the loss of him immediately, her knees finally giving out as she collapses onto the couch.

She watches, half-dazed, as he peels off the condom and pulls his pants back up, leaving them unbuttoned and slung low on his hips to throw it away in her kitchen. She can feel the walls of her cunt fluttering around nothing, the space between her legs throbbing. She can’t even muster the energy to go find her cardigan.

When Ben returns, still shirtless and panting from exertion, he hands her his discarded sweater, his gaze flickering across her body as she tugs it on over her head.

She gazes back at him as best she can, trying to resist the impulse to avoid his eyes. He looks...sated, and lovely, and he is looking at her like she is something hanging on the wall in a museum. Like he wants to run his hands all over her, consequences be damned, or maybe lift her up and steal her away entirely.

She takes a breath, about to say - _something_ \- when Ben leans over her, trailing his palm up her thigh and between her legs, slipping two fingers inside before she can blink.

He groans as he rubs her, and she can hear how wet she still is. It makes her go a little insane. “You are so fucking good,” he says, dropping to his knees on the cushion in front of her. “All of this. Fucking perfect.”

Her back arches, hips canting upwards as he curls his hand around her. She’s a little sore, a little used up and fucked out, but she can’t help wanting _more_. “Do you -“ she manages, her voice hoarse, “do you want to - stay over?” She bites down on the words _and fuck me again_.

Ben glances up at her, letting his hand fall away. He bends down, catching her mouth in his, and it’s sloppy and urgent, the way he kisses her, like he’s not trying to be careful anymore, like he’s lost patience for it. Any of it, all of it. “Yes,” he murmurs into her lips, and she can feel the way he smiles against her skin. “_Yes_.”

They have sex again, and this time they make it to her bed. Sprawled out on her duvet, Ben holds Rey over his face, licking his way into her, encouraging her to press down harder, to tug on his hair. She comes like that, rocking herself back and forth over his mouth, his hand reaching up to pinch her tits. He guides her to sit on his cock, shows her how to roll her hips to take him deep and slow, fucking into her relentlessly the way she’d pictured him doing that night outside of the bar. His arms are braced around her body, keeping her close, his mouth catching hers as she grinds herself against his abdomen, shivering and shaking and coming apart in his hands.

The third time is in her shower, close to midnight, her body slippery with soap as Ben palms her tits, her own hands flat against the tiles as he fucks her from behind, the water beating down on their backs. After, he massages shampoo and conditioner into her hair, lamenting the quality of the products half-heartedly, making bold promises to show her the ways of proper follicle care.

She falls asleep with her hair still wet, naked, her body pleasantly achey and buzzing dully, and distantly aware of the warmth of Ben in the space beside her.

Rey wakes up later than usual. She can tell by the amount of sun streaming through the curtains, a yellow golden light that filters into her bedroom, a glow of early afternoon.

It takes her a minute to remember everything that happened: Ben coming over, Belle and Sebastian, him inside her. When she lifts the covers, checking the damage, as it were, she can see finger-shaped bruises bracketing her waist; she can feel what must be a bite mark punctuating a parentheses on her neck. She rolls over to her side, and that’s when she sees there is no one in bed with her.

The flood of disappointment is followed instantly by anger, trailed by sadness, stampeded by resignation, all before she hears through the doorway the muffled sound of something thudding and a hissed _motherfucker_.

”Ben?” she calls hesitantly. 

His answer is quick and loud, a note of irritation plain even though she can’t see him. “I hate your coffeemaker.”

Rey is a grown-up, so she doesn’t jump for joy because her hook-up didn’t use her unconsciousness as an opportunity to escape the dreaded morning after. It’s a close thing, though.

She throws on a robe, wrestles a comb through her now nest-like hair, and brushes her teeth in record time. By the time she gets out to the front room, Ben seems to have managed to wrangle her coffeemaker into functioning, and it gurgles out hot spurts of liquid with an overloaded grumble. 

”Did you get this from Goodwill?” he asks as she comes closer, his brow still furrowed in concentration and annoyance. “It sucks.”

”No,” she lies. “I’ve had that for years, and it is perfectly serviceable.”

”You need to get a new one. It took me thirty minutes, a Swiss Army knife, and a prayer to get this thing to do jack shit.”

”It’s because you’re not being gentle with her.”

”Oh, it’s a _her_ now?”

”Delilah, yes.”

He snorts, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Like Samson?”

”Yes,” she says seriously.

”You name all of your household appliances after biblical figures?”

”Only the really important ones,” she mumbles, distracted suddenly by Ben’s attire. He’s barefoot, padding around her kitchen with a now-full mug of coffee, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and his boxer-briefs. Did he have a t-shirt on under his sweater yesterday? Did she completely miss that?

”You slept in,” Ben murmurs, interrupting her musing. “It’s almost noon.”

”You could’ve woken me up.”

He shakes his head, shrugging in a way that’s clearly meant to be perceived as nonchalant. “You seemed like you needed the recovery time.”

She will not blush. She won’t give him the satisfaction. “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” she says, aiming for haughty and missing it by miles.

”Oh, really?” His voice is lowered the way it was last night, and Rey straightens her back automatically. _Shit_. Ben steps closer to where she leans against the countertop, his drink already forgotten. His hand comes up to toy with the tie of her robe, slowly, painstakingly tugging it loose. “Do I need to show you again?”

She could be coy. She could continue to flirt, talk around the unutterable things they did to each other, things she will gladly do again and again until someone makes her stop. She could flirt with a man who has already made her orgasm in one night more than the rest of them put together. She could pretend like she has no idea what he’s referring to. She could play it cool.

But, then again, Rey has never been able to resist a challenge.

Before he can completely untie her robe, she drops to her knees on the cold tile and tugs his underwear halfway down his thighs. 

He’s hard almost as soon as she wraps her lips around his cock.

She can hear Ben stumble backwards into her cabinets, his voice breaking as he moans, “Oh, holy fucking shit.” His hand fisting in her hair, his legs shaking with the effort of holding himself back from fucking into her mouth.

Rey looks up at him from under her lashes, trying to arrange her expression into something innocently coquettish. His knuckles are white as he grips the counter, and when she meets his eyes, he groans so loudly she can practically feel it throb between her legs.

”You asshole,” he chokes out, shifting forward, his dick sliding deeper into her mouth. His head tips back, his throat working as he swallows. “I’m gonna get you back for this.”

Rey hums around him in reply, and his fingers tighten around the crown of her head.

Blow jobs are not a big part of her life. She has given them before, of course, but she doesn’t know if she’s ever enjoyed it this much, if at all. The pressure of his hand on her is shockingly pleasurable, and she is extremely aware of the fact that she’s bare under her robe. She can feel herself getting wet as she sucks, as he runs an endless, explicit monologue on what exactly he is going to do to her as revenge. He should really have his own porn category, because it’s ridiculous, her reaction to him.

”Shit,” he mutters. His hips stutter in an aborted thrust, and Rey quickens her pace, stroking her hand over his shaft as she tongues the head of his cock. “Fuck, Rey, I’m gonna come, okay, Rey - I -“

She doesn’t let up until he’s gasping and whining endlessly, until he’s begging for mercy. The noise that comes out of him when he finishes in her mouth should be illegal.

Rey wipes her face with the back of her hand as she stands up and spits in the sink, Ben shuddering and shaking in front of her. He’s looking at her like she just performed a miracle.

”That was not fucking fair,” he breathes.

Rey smirks, grabbing his coffee and taking a long sip. “Do I need to show you again?”

Something changes in his eyes as he looks at her, but it’s not the dark, deep intent she’s grown used to over the past hours. It’s - soft. Contemplative.

Ben snatches the mug back away from her and tries, poorly, to hide a grin. “Get your own,” he mumbles over the rim of the cup, and she laughs.

Ben doesn’t leave. After he makes her eggs (“I thought you wouldn’t be able to use my dishes,” she teased, and he rolled his eyes. “I’ll take the risk.”), both of them eating together, leaning over the countertop, Rey thinks, with a strange twinge of disappointment, that he will definitely go back home now. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t so much as put his jeans back on. But as long as he keeps wanting to stay, she is going to keep letting him stay.

Ben explores her apartment. He lingers over the photos of Finn and Rose on her bedroom dresser, picks up her new tea set, inspects the hinges on her doorways like he is looking for a something to fix. She watches him, amused, as he flips through the books she keeps on her nightstand, occasionally interjecting with commentary: _I got the Zadie Smith on sale, I still hate _God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater_, but you can’t not own _Slaughterhouse-Five_, please ignore the copious Stephen King, I feel bad about it but I still haven’t made a dent in _Infinite Jest_, do you like the Brontës or do you think it’s just _too much_?_

”It’s at once too much and not enough,” he answers cryptically, turning over _Jane Eyre_ in his hands. “He should have died in the fire. Or at least been blinded permanently.”

”That’s a cynical way of looking at one of my favorite love stories,” she says, only half-joking.

”He was a bad person who did a horrible thing,” he replies, still distracted as he flips through the pages. “He didn’t deserve Jane.”

”Maybe,” she says softly. “But she deserved him.”

Ben glances up at her, his expression shifting. He sets the book down, walking idly back around the bed to where she watches him in the doorway. “You’re too sweet.”

”You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

His hand reaches out to undo the tie of her robe, this time moving too quickly for her to stop his progress. It falls to the ground between them. “It’s not a bad thing,” he murmurs, his fingers searching, finding the space between her thighs that makes her whole body tense. Rey lets her head fall back on the arch of the door, gasping. “Why do you think I’m always calling you sweetheart?” His fingers curl brutally inside her, rubbing a steady rhythm. “It’s that sweet little heart of yours.”

She’s standing on her tiptoes, legs straining with the effort of keeping herself upright when all she wants to do is collapse on the ground and writhe around shamelessly. Her knee bends, opening herself up wider, and Ben uses the opportunity to get on his knees and hook her leg over his shoulder.

Rey can hear herself whining, over and over, _oh my god oh my god oh my god_, but it doesn’t really register as her own voice. She feels like she’s watching herself from across the room, like it isn’t even her letting Ben do all these things, _begging_ Ben to do all these things, but some fearless, confident, greedy version of her. Someone who will not only go out and get what she wants, but will keep it with selfish, grabbing hands. Someone who will have things, and have them, and _have_ them.

When he flickers his tongue around her clit, his hand tracing the bruises over her hip, she sees _stars_.

They watch a movie in bed, Rey leaning her back against his chest, her laptop between her legs. Ben complains into her shoulder about the size of the screen as he feels her up.

”If you had a real TV, you wouldn’t have to strain your eyes to see your celebrity crush...Chris Evans?”

She giggles. ”No.” The movie they’re watching is one she hasn’t seen before but Ben has. It’s in black and white, but that is the extent of her understanding. His hand slipping under the folds of her robe is doing very little to encourage her proper attention, though.

”Hemsworth? Pratt?” he guesses. “I could go on.”

”Please, don’t feel the need to.”

”No,” he muses, “you seem like the kind of woman who prides herself on liking the ugly actors out of pity. Paul Giamatti? Steve Buscemi? No, wait -“

”It’s Daniel Craig, okay,” she bursts out. “I like James Bond.”

Ben laughs, shaking her whole body with the movement in his chest. ”You’re so English.”

”He is very attractive.”

”And blonde,” he points out and is that a hint of - jealousy?

”Well, clearly that’s my type. Blonde hair and blue eyes. Very Anglo-Saxonic. Men of average size.”

He pinches her side, and Rey yelps, laughing. “You’re meaner than you let on.”

She tilts her head back, letting her mouth press lightly against his cheek as she replies, “I’m perfectly nice.” His arms tighten around her.

In the movie, the characters dance in perfect harmony, hidden from each other by a wall.

Rey orders a pizza for dinner. They fuck on the couch again while waiting for the delivery, Ben nosing into her throat while she claws at his back, her legs locking him inside her. She thanks Jesus, Buddha, Yahweh, whatever, for the foresight she had in getting condoms yesterday afternoon, as Ben ran out after two (“I thought two was pretty god damn optimistic of me,” he defended).

It’s gentler than the other times, less demanding, less desperate. More assured. Like they both know how much they want this. Like they both know how much they will do to get it.

He’s kissing her when he comes, Rey fluttering around him, the light beginning to fade outside the window.

Ben dresses himself fully after, save for his shoes, and Rey reluctantly follows suit, throwing on a loose-fitting dress without a bra, her comfiest pair of cotton underwear. She can feel the soreness between her legs throbbing dimly, and ordinarily she’d be more annoyed. She can remember feeling a deep, sincere anger at old boyfriends and hook-ups that were just a bit too rough. Instead, when she runs her fingers through her pussy, feeling the way she’s overly wet, leaking, there is a rush of something like happiness that clenches around her heart. Her sweet little heart.

He insists on paying for the order when it arrives, which Rey reluctantly allows. She gets out the two plates she has while he fishes out two sodas she’d forgotten were in the back of her fridge.

She hasn’t so much as looked at a clock the entire day, but she can tell it’s getting later and later. It makes something stir low in her belly, an unease that insists on acknowledgement. She tries to ignore it as she eats her pizza, grinning faintly every time Ben picks off a bit of pineapple that made it over to his side. 

”Rey?” She blinks, and he is staring at her, the plate in front of him empty. She braces herself, waiting for the inevitable question, the one she can never answer correctly: _you good, are you okay, how are you?_ “What are you thinking about?”

Her breath stutters in her throat, because he is really - he’s really just so - “What’s next?”

He pauses for a moment, as if he’s waiting for her to continue. When she doesn’t, he smiles slightly. “Whatever you want,” he says.

”What do _you_ want?”

”That doesn’t matter.”

”Yes, it does. Because what if what you want isn’t even close to what I want and I look completely idiotic and you hate me and -“

”I would never think you’re idiotic. Misguided and naive, maybe -“

”Thank you for the fantastic compliment.”

”Rey.” He’s holding her gaze as he says her name, his expression suddenly serious. “What do you want?”

”I - I don’t know,” she admits. “I - I don’t _have_ things. That’s never been part of my life. The having. So I don’t know what to do with it.”

Ben just stares at her for a moment. Then, he reaches, pulling her into him with one tug of his arm. As soon as she’s nestled into his side, she feels everything else meld away into nothing, and it’s just her. And him.

He presses a kiss to her temple, fitting her elbow into his palm. “Have it,” he says quietly.

Rey doesn’t say a word. She lets him hold her until the sky goes completely dark.   
  


  
The clock reads 7:37 when Ben finally goes home. Almost twenty-four hours, she realizes. And in another twelve, she’ll be back at her desk, Ben a closed door away, and everything will be back to normal. Except how it won’t be at all, and it’ll all be entirely different and entirely new, and what is there to be done about that.

Ben hovers by her front door, tripling checking that he has his wallet, jingling his keys repeatedly.

”I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says when she opens the door to let him out, letting her spine press back against the wood.

”I’ll - yeah,” he says after a moment of thought. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Rey smiles, with some effort, lifting up her hand in the beginning of a wave, when Ben moves forward, right into her space, and dips his head. “I had a really good time,” he says into her ear, letting his voice drop low and quiet. Like they’re sharing secrets.

She nods, worried that if she says anything aloud her voice will crack and break and shatter to pieces all over the floor between them. Ben kisses her while her head is still moving, his hands sliding up her waist to her back. She slips her tongue into his mouth and closes her eyes and in her chest she feels something growing, stretching out its tendrils like a prickly little plant on a windowsill.

He’s gone before she can catch her breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the artist](https://youtu.be/YB9Oq0hn5KY)


	16. i don’t want to relax cause i hate relaxing

Have you been sent from the future to destroy me? Cause it’s working.

** 16\. i don’t want to relax cause i hate relaxing **

Her second week working for Solo was as unbearable as the first. Rey had never liked handling angry people, and Ben was one of the angriest she’d ever seen. When he wasn’t full tilt rampaging over the phone or making visitors to his office break down into tears, he was seething quietly, plotting the next move of the campaign with a level of vitriol that was, quite frankly, impressive.

He acted like everyone at the White House had personally gone to his childhood bedroom, shit on his floor, and shot his dog in the face. None of which Snoke or any of his lackeys had done, as far as she was aware.

Leia seemed to be the only person who could handle Ben when he was in one of his moods. Rey tried not to eavesdrop (a lie, obviously), but she couldn’t help but hear some of their overloud conversations through the wood of the door.

Once, she thought she heard her own name, but she couldn’t tell whose voice said it.

When Rey finally snapped and shouted at him the following week, it was the first time she ever saw Ben smile. Even if it was because she called him a dickhead.

Which, in retrospect, should have been a some kind of sign.

A sign of _what_, she still hasn’t the faintest idea.

It’s somewhere between the time she gets to the office and her lunch break that she realizes the enormity to which she fucked herself. As in, utterly and completely _fucked_ herself.

Because how is she supposed to function? How is she supposed to work ten feet away from him acting like everything is business as usual when she feels like the entire planet has flipped magnetic poles overnight? How is everyone just walking around discussing work and the fast-approaching election when everything in reality has completely altered its shape?

Worse: how is she supposed to act normal around Ben when all she wants to do is drag him to the nearest supply closet with a working lock?

Her conversation with Rose at lunch is the first thing that goes wrong that day, but it isn't the last.

“You had sex,” she accuses, her mouth curled into a sly grin.

Rey furrows her brow in what she hopes is a nonchalant manner. “What? No.”

”Damn it,” Rose curses, slamming her hand on the table in mock rage. “I feel like I’ve seen that kind of move on TV and people usually just get all flustered, like, _oh my goodness how did you know?_”

”That only works if that person has actually had sex,” Rey says, feeling the grip of panic ease up just slightly. But only slightly. “So it wouldn’t work on me.”

”You do seem relaxed though,” she muses, looking Rey up and down. “Did you finally get a massage?”

“Yeah, I used that gift card your sister gave me."

”Good. Paige did say you need a massage more than anyone she’s ever met.” Rose takes a truly impressive bite of her sandwich, continuing through a mouthful of ham and cheese. “She also said you need to get laid.”

”I’m trying.”

Rose makes a noise of disbelief. “Not very hard. Last time we talked about it, you were a little bit...hung up. On a certain fella.”

Rey scrunches her nose. “A _certain fella_? Really?”

”Do you want me to say who it is at work?” She raises her voice louder. “Rey Jackson has a cru-“

”Okay, okay, stop! I take your point.” Rey twirls a bit of ramen around on her plastic fork, letting herself relax. Letting herself be _casual_. She is the epitome of casual. She will be casual all over this empty break room. She shakes her head. “No, that’s - no. No. No.”

”I mean, he is nice-looking. I wouldn’t say no _that_ vehemently.” Rose sighs. “But I guess you’re right, I shouldn’t push you if you’re not 100 percent on anything. Jannah told me to stop living vicariously through your love life.”

Rey rubs the nape of her neck, suddenly self-conscious. “You two talked about that, yeah?”

”Jannah called me a, quote unquote,_ '_little shoulder devil.' Whatever that means." Rose shrugs, rolling her eyes. "Besides, can you imagine? If you actually made a move? Or, oh my god, if he made a move on you? That would be truly crazy. Like, batshit. Because I mean -” Rose lowers her voice meaningfully, eyebrows raised. “He is your literal boss. It would be a _literal_ sex scandal. Which, let’s be honest, would also be fucking _amazing_. You should totally do it.”

Rey forces a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, _totally_.”

”It’s one of those things that is, like, such a super awesome idea in theory but totally fucking untenable in practice. Like a baby that is also a grandpa.” Rose tears off a piece of bread with her teeth, nodding. “It’s like Finn is always saying: don’t shit where you eat.”

Rey feels like she might throw up. She wonders if it would be suspicious if she went and did that right now. “Yeah,” she says, grinning wide and fake. “You’re right. Are you gonna finish your crisps?”

It only gets worse. Rey is not a superstitious person by nature; in her experience, everything bad that happens is usually a direct result of someone being careless, or indecisive, or just plain shitty. There is no such thing as luck, or karma, or a bad omen.

She can’t help but feel like what happens is a bad omen though. Or maybe that’s the wrong word for it. Maybe she is being careless and indecisive and just plain shitty.

It’s the eavesdropping, she thinks. A terrible habit of hers, but one that comes in handy every once in a while. If she hadn’t eavesdropped on Unkar when she was first applying for university in America, she never would’ve heard him bragging about telling her the wrong deadline, and she would've never submitted her financial aid application on time. So maybe it’s not the eavesdropping.

Either way, that’s where the problem starts.

She’s making copies when she hears them in the hallway outside of the printer room. Leia and Amilyn both have distinctive voices, the former raspy and low, the latter crystal-clear and firm, and neither of them seems to be all that concerned with trying to keep quiet.

She can hear the murmur of their conversation the entire time she's working, but her ears perk up when she hears what sounds like her name.

”I don’t know what she did, Leia,” Amilyn is saying, “but it fucking worked. You know how hard he can be to reign in when he gets going.”

”You’re telling me," Leia says, sighing. “I love that boy to death, but sometimes he can be a real asshole.”

”You know how much I adore him, I’ve known him since he was a child.”

”Oh god, was he a handful. The _screaming_. Do you remember how I had to leave in the middle of a meeting one day, when he split his head open on the stairs -“

”When the nanny had to take him to the emergency room?”

”He was pitching a fit. I still don’t know why, but CeCe said it lasted for over an hour before he finally threw himself down the front porch.” Leia pauses, and something twists in Rey's stomach. “You said - she went to his hotel room? I don’t remember you mentioning that before.”

”Everything was a little chaotic, ma’am. With the article -“

”Yes, I remember now. I just - I didn’t really expect that, that’s all." The voices suddenly drop, and Rey's feet carry her closer to the door of their own accord, straining to hear the rest. "I knew he had a soft spot for her. I had to talk to him about it, you know. I told him, you can’t go around mooning over your assistant, it’s not the 90s anymore. He’s never listened to me before, though, so why start now.”

There's a weighty pause. Amilyn says, so low Rey barely catches it, ”You don’t think -”

”Oh, god no," Leia dismisses immediately, and Rey lets out her breath in a rush. "He would never be so stupid with the election right around the corner, and she's a bright young girl, she wouldn’t jeopardize her career even if she was interested. Based on the amount of times Poe has complained about the arguing, I’d say that’s nothing to worry about anyway. I do wish he’d just meet someone though. Did you know he’s never brought a girlfriend home? At this rate, I won't have grandkids until I'm senile.”

”You’ve mentioned it before.”

”I wish he’d settle down," she says heavily. Her voice lightens as she continues, "You don’t think Bazine is still -“

”I wouldn’t count on it, ma’am.”

”That would be a match made in heaven. They’re just both _so_ -“

Amilyn snorts. “I completely agree.”

Rey blinks, trying to process their words as the conversation moves onto how Bazine is just _so_. She stands in front of the printer long after it churns our her last copy, opening and closing her hands. The voices continue, seemingly undeterred by the thought of anyone overhearing, and she waits until the sound of the conversation dims and then quiets before she makes her exit. She doesn't realize until she's almost at her desk that she completely forgot the copies on top of the printer, and she has to make an about-face in the middle of the hallway to go retrieve them.

And that is the second thing that goes wrong.

Finn could not have had any way of knowing the kind of day Rey was having, so she can hardly blame him for the fact that he makes things worse, but, then again, she is definitely going to blame him.

And Facebook. Because _fuck Facebook._

"This girl I went to high school with just had a baby,” Finn announces as he lounges in the empty rolling chair by her desk, completely ignoring the stack of papers Rey is trying to organize into some semblance of rationality. “I feel like a fucking failure.”

Rey lightly whacks him on the hand as he reaches for her stapler. “That is not for you, Ben will have me bring him your head on a platter if you steal his office supplies. And, more importantly, you are _not_ a failure.”

Finn groans, hanging his head down like he is supporting the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I just realized I haven’t accomplished anything since college. I am an intern with a kind of live-in girlfriend. And there’s Bethany Novak getting married and paying a mortgage and popping out full humans. She failed P.E., Rey._ P.E._”

”I do think half the point of a baby is that they’re not full humans yet. They’re still growing and shit.” Finn looks up at her from under his brow, his expression so miserable Rey can’t help but take his hand. “You’re not a failure,” she reassures, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. “Bethany is going to regret being a teenage mother someday.”

”We’re not teenagers, Rey.”

”Shh, don’t remind me.”

"I did hear her boyfriend is old as fuck though,” Finn muses, his face lighting up like the fact is just making his day. “He's, like, 36, and she's like 24."

She shrugs in a way that she hopes will translate as coolly unaffected. “That's not so bad."

"It's pretty fucking weird,” he says, furrowing his brow. “They met when she was 20."

"That's a bit weirder."

"I don't know if I could ever date someone that much younger than me,” he continues, leaning back in the roller chair, eyes drifting over the ceiling. “It's like, what's wrong with those guys that are trying to sleep with these young girls, you know? That they can't get a woman their own age. It's fucking creepy."

"Ha.” Rey hopes that her glance at Ben's office door isn't obvious. Thank god, it's still closed. “Yeah."

"The only thing worse would be, like, if she was the nanny for his kids. Or if it was like that McDonald's CEO who fucked his employee. That was fucked _up_."

"Yeah, super fucked up." She swallows, her voice feeling suddenly too scratchy and off to be her. She spreads out the papers on her desk in a fan, trying to see every word at once. It doesn’t work. She scatters them again, frustrated. “Didn’t he get fired?” she asks as naturally as she can.

”Yeah,” Finn says, “but he wouldn’t have been if he’d listened to me.” He looks Rey in the eye, his voice serious as he reveals his sage advice. “_Don’t shit where you eat._ The golden rule.”

Rey huffs out a laugh, gathering up the papers, resigning herself to organizing the whole thing all over again. “Stupid McDonald’s guy.”

Finn whistles. “Stupid McDonald's guy," he says thoughtfully.

Rey has been reading and rereading the same polling data for what feels like her entire life. She is beginning to think she was born in this chair, was instantly given this folder, and she will be doomed to spend the rest of her life with her eyes glued to the page when Ben calls her into his office.

The moment she steps in, Rey feels the air suddenly clearing.

Ben, leaning over his desk, looks up when the door clicks shut and smiles. “Rey.”

She can’t resist smiling in return, because it's him. Because he's back to wearing a suit, dark blue, and his top button is not quite closed again and she’ll have to fix it for him. Because his hair looks incredible, damn him, but he said he would let her try his hair products one day. Because it's been a day since they had sex last, but she already wants it again, she already wants and wants. Because she has had the worst day in the world, even if it's just the worst day in her own head. Because she _can_, and he'll smile back at her and it makes her feel like she is important, the only person that matters in the room. Any room. The whole world. “Hi," she says.

Every second she lingers in his office feels like the moments after resurfacing from almost drowning: brightly panicked, gasping for air, overwhelmed with relief. The entire day has felt like that, she realizes, standing with her hand still clasped on the doorknob behind her back. Like she has been trapped underwater with a rapidly emptying oxygen tank and shoes full of lead and somehow she has managed to escape by the skin of her teeth.

Ben glances at the folder clutched in her hands. “You get a chance to look over that?”

Rey nods, trying to force her grin to stay on her face, but in the next moment she can feel the way her expression crumbles into a mask of anxiety.

"Oh, shit," he says, straightening up. Then, repeated as he comes out from behind his desk, "Oh, shit, Rey, what's wrong? Is it something I did?” His eyes harden suddenly. “Is it something someone else did? Was it Hux? I will break his legs and bury him alive, I already told him if he bothered you again -"

"No," she manages, and he comes closer to her, his hand reaching out to curl around her upper arm. The touch is so chaste, so sweet and sincere, it makes her want to kiss his stupid mouth. "Please don't break any legs, it wasn't Hux. Also you shouldn't go around threatening physical harm on people."

Ben shrugs, his thumb tracing a circle around her upper arm. He tugs her a little closer, his other hand settling on her waist. When he smiles, it’s lopsided and unbelievably charming. "Where I used to work, that's tame.”

"It's this whole day," she blurts out, trying to keep her voice steady. As she speaks, Ben keeps tracing a circle around her bicep, his nails digging into her skin every so often, a light pressure of presence. Like he’s saying, _I’m here. Right here._ "I feel - I felt so happy this morning when I woke up and I know it's silly, I know it's been a week, but I felt so happy, and now it’s - Everywhere I look today is just bad omen after bad omen and I just keep thinking did we make a huge mistake because this could ruin your entire life and if anyone finds out about any of it it'll completely fuck your mother's chances and what will people think of me and what will people think of you and what are we even doing because I feel like I -"

"Rey,” he finally interrupts when her voice has sped up beyond recognition, the words all consolidating into one big mass of terror. “Sweetheart, you need to slow down. I lost track of what the problem was."

"What if we made a mistake?" she says, catching her voice from getting too loud at the last moment, suddenly reminded of the thinness of the walls. _Eavesdropping,_ she thinks. _Bad omen._

He looks, for a second, almost nervous. Almost afraid. "Do you think we did? Do you want -"

"It doesn't matter what I want. Maybe we -" She takes a breath, steeling herself for what she needs to say. "Maybe we should stop. At least until after the election.”

Ben's whole body stills, like an animal caught in a trap. Something in his eyes shifts, and suddenly that doesn't feel like the correct metaphor any longer. He seems, she realizes, more like a predator catching the first scent of blood on his tongue. His fingers dig a little more into her arm, just for a moment, before starting a calm, steady ascent up her shoulder, across the curve of her neck. "I don’t want to stop," he says, his voice pitched low and exact.

She blinks, and he is looking at her with so much _intent_ she considers, for one moment of brief insanity, dropping to her knees in front of him. Desire rolls through her like an actively derailing train: ripping trees from their roots, bowling over buildings, leaving no survivors. She has a tenuous grasp on her control as it is; she doesn't quite know what she'll do if he loses his grip on his. ”What?”

”I don’t want to stop," he repeats. "I don't think you want to either." His fingers are at her mouth now; his thumb tugs her lower lip open, and she lets him. She wants to bite the flesh between her teeth. He pulls her closer, flush against him, until her fingers instinctively clutch at his lapels. He says, in that same quiet voice, "I want to keep fucking you.”

She needs to say something before she loses all ability to think. She manages, "But - if anyone finds out -"

"Then they find out." His fingers grip her jaw, his hand tightening around her waist, and he might as well be undressing her because Rey feels completely _bare_. Exposed. A live wire throwing off sparks, edging dangerously close to a pool full of water.

"It'll ruin your career," she says weakly.

He pushes her until her back hits the door, and she wants to _melt._ It's so hard to think of reasons, she can't _think_ \- "Fuck my career."

"The election -"

"Fuck the election." The hand on her mouth lowers, inching its way to the inside of her thighs, and she makes one last half-hearted effort.

"But -"

"Fuck it," he breathes, "whatever it is." Then he's kissing her the way she'd imagined him doing all day, possessive and careful and _thorough, _and Rey stops thinking entirely.

She is going to make a bad decision. She is going to _enjoy_ it.

She opens up her mouth and lets herself have him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh please feel it: I am the croissant that felt its own heat and curves and wished to be a woman, and I am that woman from the wish. Let me be your morning treat with your coffee. Disregard the fear that I am too rich to be an ordinary meal. Allow my antique decadence into your morning into your mouth. Pair me with jam. Treasure me for my layers and layers of fragility and richness. Have me in a hotel while you are on vacation. Look at me and say, "Oh, I really shouldn't," just because you want to have me so very much.
> 
> \- JENNY SLATE


	17. let's go back to the idea of turning that frown into the inverse of a frown

What is this? _Eat, Pray,_ fucking _Love_?

** 17\. let’s go back to the idea of turning that frown into the inverse of a frown **

Ben goes to her apartment twice in the first week and three times the second. Each time, they have mind-blowing, earth-shaking sex. Each time, he leaves before midnight.

And Rey can’t quite tell what it means. Every time she thinks she can nail down what he wants from her, he does something inexplicable and strange that seems to point to the complete opposite. She’s never been that experienced with flirtation, or really any kind of relationship, for lack of a better word, that lasts more than a few months, but she feels more confused with every passing day. She wishes she could ask Rose about it - Rose always seems to know exactly what to say to cut to the heart of the matter. As that isn’t an option, her attempts to uncover Ben’s motivations are doomed from the beginning.

On Tuesday the second week, he’s on her from the minute she lets him in. He doesn’t even manage to get more than a few feet into the room before he’s tugging her pants down to her ankles (“Why the fuck did you wear pants today, are you trying to _kill me_?”), and shoving her against the door. He holds her upright with one hand while the other slips in between the buttons of her shirt to roll her nipple between his fingers as he fucks her into the wood. She’s pulsing around him less than a handful of minutes after he enters her, the heel of her palm pressed against his shoulder while he rattles the door off its hinges, her mouth open wide though no noise comes out. After, he leaves just as quickly, muttering darkly about having a late night meeting with Lor San Tekka, who, by the by, he’d like to set on fire, and he wishes he could stay longer but _that fucking guy_.

So Rey resigns herself to the fact that yeah, maybe this is just a convenient thing for both of them, and it’s not like she expected anything more than that anyway. She ignores the vague feelings of disappointment when he texts her at 2 AM asking to come back the next day and replies: _Sure whatever._

Wednesday, it’s the complete opposite. He gets there ridiculously early in the evening, at least for him, and does nothing for a long while but raid her pantry, bemoaning her lack of anything even remotely healthy, and trying, through both physical and emotional manipulation, to wrest control of her phone so he can choose the music. When they finally have sex, she initiates it, and he spends a good ten minutes (or maybe it’s twenty or thirty; she loses track for a while in the middle) lapping at her cunt while she sits on the kitchen counter, whimpering mortifyingly loud. She has to tug him off after the second time she comes on his tongue and practically beg him to fuck her. After he’s spent himself inside of her, he pulls her into his chest and murmurs nonsense quietly into her hair, his fingers trailing up and down her spine. And then he leaves.

The point being: mixed signals. Up the wazoo.

If she were talking to Rose about it, Rey knows she would say to just ask. _Communicate, you dummy_, as she has put it on numerous occasions. But as that seems difficult and uncomfortable, and seeing as she would rather fuck him than not fuck him regardless of the intentions of said fucking, she doesn’t bring it up.

On Friday evening, she starts her period two days early.

She could tell it was coming, that much is always obvious, but her tracker app seems to have led her astray on the timeline of the situation. Which is all kinds of annoying because Ben is supposed to be at her apartment in a few hours, for sex-having purposes. Which will clearly have to wait now.

She texts him after work, as she lazes around on her couch, binging The X-Files on her laptop.

_I know we had plans tonight, but Aunt Flow came early, so I’ll have to cancel._

She agonizes over adding a _:(_ before finally deciding against it.

His response is almost immediate.

_Okay._

_I didn’t realize you had any extended family._

Oh, god. _Men_. That’s what she gets for trying to be delicate.

_Aunt Flow is not a real aunt._

_I am, how the kids say, indisposed. Riding the crimson tide. Shut down for renovations in the red room._

_? What?_

_I am on my period, Ben._

_Oh._

_Next time just say that._

_Why can’t I come over then?_

Rey types out about fifteen different responses before she decides on one.

_I didn’t think you’d want to._

_Seeing as I’m closed for business._

_You’re not a store._

_I’ll swing by around 8._

She debates telling him to just stay home anyway because she is - a whole mess. In all of her areas. And she’s not planning on doing her makeup again, even just to put on a bit of mascara and lip gloss like she usually does, and she’s not wearing a bra but she _is_ wearing thick hiking socks that she's tucked her sweatpants into, and she’s pretty sure she looks like all hell. But, he wants to come over even without the promise of sex. And that is - new.

She sends out the text before she can overthink it:

_See you then._  
  


She continues her episode, half-heartedly watching Mulder and Scully tiptoe around their sexual tension, her stomach twisting itself into a bow.

He’s always irritatingly on time, so Rey isn’t shocked when the knock comes at 8 on the dot. She takes her time about getting to him, nervously combing her fingers through her hair, checking her buns to make sure they haven't fallen apart.

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get tired of opening the door and seeing Ben on the other side. It makes something inside her feel all buzzy and delirious. It makes her want to grin like a fool and turn a cartwheel, even though she hasn't done a cartwheel in almost twenty years.

It's inconvenient, is what it is.

His eyes run over her, cataloguing, she’s sure, every single flaw - her shiny forehead, her knotted hair, her UPenn sweatshirt with too many holes around the neckline. He takes it all in and then he - _smiles_.

Rey blinks, and yeah, there he is. Not running away in terror. He shoves a plastic bag in her arms and mumbles, “I’m not close to very many women, but this is what the internet told me to buy.”

She glances down and breaks into a grin. “Chocolate, a heating pad, Advil, and a scented candle?”

”It’s what I could find last minute.”

She thinks if she keeps smiling her face will start to ache. He is so fucking adorable, and she is - in trouble, clearly. “You didn’t have to come bearing gifts.”

”Yeah, well. I brought them anyway.” He rocks back and forth, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Can I come in?”

She nods, maybe a little frantically, and steps back so he can enter. Or rather stroll in like he owns the place. She watches as he takes his time about looting through her fridge for one of the IPAs she’s taken to stocking up on. She fucking knew he liked them.

”Want something to eat?” he calls.

”I don’t have much,” she says lamely. “Just some chicken that I was going to -“ Yeah, she has no idea what she was going to do with the chicken. Cook it? “Finn forced me to purchase some spices the other day, so. Knock yourself out, buddy.” _Buddy?_

He titters. ”For someone who eats as ferociously as you do, you sure don’t have much in the way of anything here.”

”I've been needing to go to the store.” _Two __weeks ago. When you were fucking me all day._

Ben laughs, short and quick, and starts to pull things out of the fridge she’d forgotten existed. “And I thought I was terrible at keeping myself alive. This is genuinely heartbreaking. I feel like I should call someone about this.”

”Can’t break what you don’t have, Ben.”

He presses his hand to his chest, still grinning. “You cut me to the quick.”

”Just telling it like it is,” she says loftily. “Revealing my inner truth.”

”Did your psychic tell you to do that?”

”If I told you I did believe in psychics, would you stop sleeping with me?”

He opens his mouth. Hesitates. “I -“

She shakes her head, feigning disappointment. “You have no principles.”

He shrugs. ”Or I just really like sleeping with you,” he says. “But it’s probably both.”

Rey looks on as he manages to put together some semblance of order with the ingredients he scrounged up. Ben is good at cooking, not that she knows particularly what that looks like, and he could probably make something better if he had more to work with. He knows his way around a kitchen, at the very minimum.

He’s focused, drizzling pre-diced garlic and olive oil into one of her pans, dumping a box full of one dollar pasta into a pot of bubbling water. Rey feels a little useless, watching him. Less put together.

”You know that’s not an option tonight,” she says, a few minutes too late to make sense.

Ben furrows his brow, distracted as he wrenches open a jar of marinara sauce she didn’t know existed. “What’s not an option?”

”Sleeping together.”

He blinks up at her, his face etching into deeper confusion. “Yeah. I got that.”

”Because, you know, some people do period sex and I’m down for that other times, but the first day is always too terrible for that. It’s genuinely like a murder scene down there. With a machete just -“ she mimes cutting through the air, “hacking.”

”Very visceral imagery.”

”So, yeah. Just in case you were thinking we might do something, or if you wanted - I don’t know - a blow job or a handy, it’s probably not -“

”I wasn’t thinking that,” he interrupts. He seems almost offended, his arm jerking as he stirs the pasta with too much vigor. “You know, if I wanted to get a hand job I would go to a bar and get one.”

Rey can feel her face harden. ”Oh, okay. Someone’s full of himself.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. ”Rey -“

”By all means, don’t stop on my account. Go ahead and get a hand job. Get laid, even.”

”That’s not what I meant, and you know it. You are willfully misconstruing what I’m saying.”

”I’m construing nothing, Ben, because I have no _idea_ what you’re saying.”

”Well, I’m _saying_ that I’m not here just to get laid. I don’t know what gave you that impression -“

”Oh, I don’t know, maybe it was how this week you came to my apartment, fucked me, and left in the space of about fifteen minutes.” She can feel her blood pounding in her ears, and suddenly she feels so enraged at him, so livid at the way he stands there in front of her stove, looking as guilty as he does defensive. “Maybe it was that.”

”I had to go back to work," he argues, "I told you that.”

”Then why not just tell me you can’t come by?”

”Because I wanted to see you!” he yells suddenly, overloud in the smallness of the space. “Because if I didn’t go see you I wouldn’t be able to get through drinks with fucking Lor San Tekka without killing him and then myself in a ritual suicide. And yeah, maybe - When I saw you, I couldn’t keep my hands off of you and I made you feel shitty and I’m sorry, okay? I thought you - liked it, and I should’ve stayed longer or called after, but I’m an idiot. I’m a feral fucking animal when you’re around, and I’m just - I’m sorry.”

Her anger dies as quick as a flame doused in water. ”Oh.”

Ben stands there, a muscle in his jaw clenching tight, before he turns mechanically and drains the water for the noodles. Rey can only watch, dumbstruck, while he busies himself making up two plates of food.

He drops one in front of her on the counter, and when she looks up he is just right there. Gazing at her.

”You should’ve told me,” he murmurs. “I can’t - change anything if you don’t tell me.”

”I didn’t want to be pushy.” Even to her own ears it sounds immature and needy, and she groans in frustration because it's pointless, the talking. It doesn't even begin to encompass what she feels. What she _wants_. “Because I did like what you did, mostly, and I like what we’re doing, and I -" She pauses for a second before continuing, "I like _you_, Ben.”

He freezes for a heartbeat, his fork hovering over his plate. After a moment, he jerks back into motion, his expression forcefully neutral. “Yeah?”

She shifts, uneasy, and stabs a noodle with her fork. “Yeah. Don’t make it a big deal or anything.”

”I’m not.” Watching him, she can see his lips curling just barely. “Did I make it a big deal?”

”You would. Just to be an asshole.”

Ben smirks and knocks in her shoulder as he passes her on the way to the coffee table, gesturing for her to follow him to the couch to eat. Rey goes, only semi-reluctantly, watching the way he settles in like he belongs there. 

”For the record,” he says when she sits primly next to him. Rey glances over as he crosses his legs, uncrosses them, his eyes on his plate as he digs through the pasta absentmindedly. “I do too. Like what we’re doing. And you.”

She is not going to smile at him. She is not going to bask. She is very cool and normal. “Okay then,” she says airily.

”We’re good?”

”We’re good.”

He's quiet for a minute while she eats, watching her. Rey knows she is graceless, absurd, way too obvious in the forcefulness of her desire for food, but he doesn't seem that put off by it. ”Do you really think I’m an asshole?”

”Maybe at first,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “Now I think you’re nice.”

He glances up at her, his expression a little bit softer than before, a little less agitated. ”I’ve been accused of being a lot of things, Rey. _Nice_ has never been one of them.”

”But you are. To me.”

”Yeah.” His lips quirk up, the barest of smiles, and in her chest she feels her heart pump just a little bit faster. “To you.”

”I hate Nirvana.”

”_Fuck you._”

”And the Smashing Pumpkins,” she needles. “And Soundgarden.”

”Stop, this is torture.”

”You know who I love? Art Garfunkel.”

”Not even Paul Simon?”

”Nope," she says boldly, popping the P on the word. "And Taylor Swift. _Unironically_.”

”Now you’re just being intentionally malicious.” Ben reaches, lightning fast, for her phone, cheering his success when he manages at last to tear it out of her grip. “Now, let’s see what will make me want to blow my eardrums out the least -“

”Want to just watch a movie?”

”No, you’re not tricking me, Rey. I just had to listen to forty-five minutes of Bob Dylan.” He shudders, repeating himself for emphasis, “_Bob Dylan._”

Rey groans, rolling onto her feet to find her laptop. “Let me at least look.”

Ben grunts vaguely in agreement while he searches her phone for something to play. He keeps changing his mind, switching songs halfway through, changing artists and albums. Indecisive, that man.

The first song he manages to let play out, Rey applauds him, and he sticks up his middle finger, rolling his eyes.

”Here,” she says at long last, angling the screen of her laptop toward him, “let’s watch this.”

He leans closer, reading the movie description. “You want to watch an art house horror movie, and you hate Nirvana?”

”Yes.”

”And you’re the same woman who called The Beatles severely overrated and Carly Rae Jepson severely underrated?”

She nods solemnly. “The very same.”

Ben blinks at her, _something_ settling into his features at the corner of his mouth, in his eyes. She can’t tell what it is. “Alright,” he says. “Sounds good to me.”

Ben falls asleep thirty minutes into the movie, his long eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks, his lips parted as he breathes deep and even. Rey lets him rest, half of her watching the film, the other half running her eyes over Ben, taking in every single detail without fear of being caught. His tie is undone, an errant lock of hair curved on his forehead. There is the thin sliver of a scar grazing over his hairline, and Rey wonders if it’s the same one from Leia’s story. There’s another just under one eye, crawling down his cheekbone, light and faded enough that it’s nearly invisible. 

Ben wakes up only after the film ends, blinking wearily back into consciousness. “Did I fall asleep?” he asks, his voice slow and careless.

”Almost immediately.” Rey can’t resist grinning a little at the impatience of his movements as he pulls himself together, as if annoyed by the fact of his own sleepiness. “I can take you home if you’re too tired to drive. You can just pick up your car later.”

He pauses. “Oh. I just - assumed, I guess.”

”Assumed what?”

”That I was...staying here,” he mutters, seeming more embarrassed at the idea with every passing moment. “I’m fine to drive back.”

”No,” she says too fast, “no, you don’t have to leave. I just thought - you haven’t been staying over.”

”Have to change clothes for work,” he says, his voice still thick with drowsiness. “This is the first Saturday I have off in months. I wanna enjoy it."

Rey furrows her brow. He must be ridiculously knackered if he's slipping into shortened words like _wanna_. "That sounds...tiring. And stressful."

"Yeah," he agrees mildly.

She bites down before she can blurt out _so why do you do it_. Instead, Rey stands up, stretches out her limbs, and holds her hands out for him to take as he gets to his feet. He's hard to maneuver, his body so much bigger than hers. Rey is painfully aware that if he were to collapse from exhaustion, she would be an instant casualty.

She manages to get him to her bed without too much fuss. It's an entirely different matter getting him undressed; the moment his head hits the pillow he's asleep again, mumbling vaguely as she tugs off his shoes and clothing. By the time she's finished getting ready for bed, he is fully ensconced in her comforter, his body curled on his side like a question mark.

Almost as soon as Rey joins him under the covers, Ben reaches out for her, his hands groping at the air until he makes contact with her stomach and pulls her into his chest. He's warm, his limbs almost completely enveloping her as he noses at the nape of her neck, mouths along her shoulders.

In the quiet, in the dark, Ben holds her in his arms like she is something precious, something to be clutched tightly and hoarded over, until she finally falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bullet w/ butterfly wings is teenage ben solo's theme song no i won't be accepting criticism on this
> 
> [i'm just an animal looking for a home and share the same space for a minute or two!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tzf4TtSYqGE)


	18. i will destroy you in ways that are so creative they will honor me for it at the kennedy center

Unlike small town America, he fucks me in a way I really enjoy.

** 18\. i will destroy you in ways that are so creative they will honor me for it at the kennedy center**

Rey keeps waiting to feel more worried.

She is not a worrier, by nature. The circumstances of her life have necessitated that she be the opposite, if anything. She has been honed, sharpened into a person who has to focus solely on the present while she’s in it, because thinking about the future beyond the next immediate steps does nothing to put food in her belly or money in her pockets.

However, this thing - this terrible, consuming, unreasonable thing with Ben - she expected to feel more worried about it. It was something unforeseen, something unplanned for. She feels a little unnerved by it, caught off her feet. Like she has been moving up a staircase and thought there was one more step, like she’s brought her weight down too heavily on the landing thinking there was still more to go, realizing she’s perfectly safe but still feeling slightly unbalanced.

That’s what she is, she thinks. Unbalanced. But not worried.

Which, of course, she should be.

In retrospect, it is really Rey’s fault. Because she has this thing about knowing people, which is that when she knows them she wants to know _everything_. She hoards information the way others hoard newspapers, or old stuffed animals, or cats - piled up in neat little stacks that make no sense to anyone but her. Information, she learned at a young age, is the best weapon against being hurt; if you really know someone, nothing they do will ever really surprise you.

This is why, in the middle of Ben teaching her how to play poker, she turns and asks him, ”What was your first kiss like?”

It’s a Thursday, the week after her period ends, and it’s early in the evening, the sky just darkened into a deep blue outside of the window. Rey sits in the middle of her bed, her eyes fixed on her cards, while Ben lounges back against her headboard, watching her progress lazily.

He’s enjoying it, she can tell, teaching her something. Knowing just a tad bit more. Or a lot more, as the case is, since Rey feels more confused than the time Finn tried to explain _Interstellar _to her.

(“So, what I’m saying is, when Matthew McConaughey was in the library in space -“

”I’m not going to get it, Finn, I’m just _not_ going to get it.”)

Ben has won three rounds already and he’s about to win a fourth when she asks the question. She figures it’s a last ditch attempt to be underhanded, since most card games she’s seen in movies seem to involve some level of treachery and distraction.

It barely fazes him.

”It’s bad if I say it was you, right?”

Rey lifts her chin up, trying to be subtle about peeking at his cards. “It’s a serious inquiry.”

”I can see you cheating,” he says, lowering his hand just enough that she can’t glimpse them anymore. “Okay, let me think. I was...fifteen. No, sixteen. It was with Jennifer Bloomrosen in the girls’ dorms at First Order. There were a bunch of us there playing spin the bottle. She was the only one I kissed because after that I got really freaked out and ran away.”

”You stud,” she says, then dramatically lays her cards flat on the duvet. “I fold.”

”Rey, half of the reason why I keep winning is because you give up too easily. I refuse to allow you to fold, pick your cards back up.” She does so, grousing, her brow furrowed as she looks them over. Surely all of these mean something, she thinks. She’d been distracted by Ben’s hands when he was explaining the different suits and their combinations, imagining how nice they would look spreading her legs open, and now she has no clue if what she has is good or bad. “It was awful,” he continues thoughtfully, “and I hated it, and I didn’t kiss anyone else until I was about 20.” Ben shuffles his cards absentmindedly, and Rey watches, entranced. “How about you?”

She blinks. “Hmm?”

”Your first kiss.” There’s the beginning of a smile tracing around his mouth as he says it, and Rey fights the urge to squirm. There is a certain fondness in the way he looks at her now, a certain ease.

”Let’s see,” she says, cocking her head as she thinks on it. “I was nineteen. He was my first boyfriend, and he said he loved me. Then he asked me to suck his dick.”

His smile grows. ”Did you?”

”I was going to, but then when his pants were actually down and there was his, you know, his penis just dangling there, I got very scared and ran out of his dorm room.”

He snorts. “Tease.”

”That’s what they called me.”

”What was his name?”

”David Cormier.” Rey rolls her shoulders, pops her neck. “Why do you want to know?”

He shakes his head. ”No reason. Maybe I can let him know you’re not a tease anymore.”

”It was very upsetting at the time,” she points out, and it was. She remembers it vividly, how she’d had to wear headphones every time she left her room for weeks so she wouldn’t hear the calls from groups of boys in the quad: bitch, whore, cocktease. 

”Yeah, I’m sure it was.” His voice is soft, eyes scanning over her like he’s checking for injuries. “He sounds like a fucking moron.”

Rey shrugs, her cards all but forgotten. “Joke was on him anyway, because I shagged his roommate like a month later. Which, coincidentally, is how I lost my virginity.”

”Wait, you’re not a virgin?”

That startles a small huff of laughter out of her, her nose scrunching in amusement. “Shut up.”

”So what was that guy’s name?”

This is when Rey realizes her error. Hindsight being 20/20 and all. She arches her eyebrow, smiling coyly. Says, “He’s not as handsome as you, Ben. You have nothing to worry about.”

That seems to do the trick. “You think I’m handsome?”

She rolls her eyes. “Stop with the false modesty, you know you’re attractive.”

”I don’t know, Rey, I’m pretty weird-looking. The -“ He traces a finger along the ridge of his nose, grimacing slightly. “And I have small eyes and giant ears, like a rat. I know what I look like, you don’t need to flatter me.”

Rey gapes at him because - because how can a man be so outrageously unaware of himself. “Believe you me, it’s not flattery. All those things you call weird-looking come together very fucking nicely. And your shoulders don’t exactly hurt your case, and I don’t want to build up your ego too much, but, Jesus fucking Christ, you literally have a six-pack. And your _height_. How tall are you exactly?”

”6’3, last I checked.”

”You seem taller than that. Emotionally speaking. I’m no slouch, and I feel like an amateur compared to you. I could show you a website I found called _Petition for Ben Solo to Fuck Me_ to help illustrate my point.”

”No need.” She can see the tips of his ears turning red. Adorable. “And don’t think you’ve made me forget.”

Playing dumb usually works on men, so she gives it a shot. “Forget what?”

“What was the guy’s name?”

_Damn it._ ”It’s not important.”

Ben furrows his brow. “Well, now I feel like you’re hiding it. Who was it? Was it someone famous? Was it Daniel Craig?”

“No, it’s - it’s really not a big deal.”

”Tell me.”

It’s his voice that does it, all deep and dark and commanding. It never fails to make her shiver, make her remember all the other things she wants him to tell her to do.

”It was Finn, okay?” she bursts out, and instantly regrets it the moment she sees the look on his face. She has to continue, has to explain, “He was David’s roommate and we became friends while I was dating him, and then we saw each other at a party after David broke up with me, and we both drank a little - a lot, actually - and I wanted to finally just get it over with with someone I trusted. So we did it, and it was - deeply uncomfortable and awkward and not good at all, it was basically like having sex with my brother, or what I imagine it would feel like having sex with my brother, and we decided to never ever do it again, and about two years later he met Rose and they fell in love and they’ve been dating for three years so it’s definitely not even a possibility we would ever do it again. Like, I’d literally rather have sex with _anybody_ else. And Rose knows about it, she thinks it’s funny, and so it’s really not a big deal at all.”

Ben blinks at her slowly, like he’s buffering while the information loads into his processing center. “What?”

”Well -“

”You had sex with Finn,” he says, his eyebrows still knit together in confusion. “The guy in the photographs you keep in your bedroom.” 

”He’s my friend.”

”I just need a minute to - think about this.” As he speaks, every word sounds like it’s dragged out of him, clawing its way up from his throat. “You lost your virginity to -“ he points to a photo of Finn and Rose on her dresser, “that guy. And you are still friends with him, and I see him - every day. That guy.”

Rey nods, and she wants to just _die_ because how stupid is she? Because this isn’t the first time a man has lost interest in her after finding out she and Finn have any kind of history, and it makes something turn in her stomach to think Ben might - “See,” she says, “this is why I didn’t want to tell you, I knew it would make things w-“

Before she can finish her sentence, three things happen in very quick succession.

One: she sees Ben’s cards, because he throws them face up on the bed, and she realizes she was maybe about to win.

Two: Ben pins her to the bed, one of his hands gripping her forearms above her head.

Three: Ben kisses her.

It isn’t a nice kiss.

There’s nothing soft or sweet about the way he shoves his tongue in her mouth, thick and insistent, or about the way he uses the hand not busy keeping her hands trapped to rip her t-shirt up to her neck. She’s not wearing a bra underneath, and the minute his fingers find her flesh bare he groans loud enough in her mouth she can feel it in her clit.

”I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” he snarls, his breath hot against her lips. She thinks distantly, logically, that she should maybe find this scary. Or if not scary, then at least intimidating. But she doesn’t, not even remotely. Because she - because she _knows_ him.

He pushes her thighs open wide enough it twinges at her hip, and grinds himself down into her. Rey whines, breathless, because he’s taken all the air out of the room, he’s using it all up. “I don’t want to even think about it, anyone else touching you. It’s _maddening_.”

”You knew I wasn’t a virgin,” she manages, “never bothered you before.” While she talks, Ben uses the opportunity to shift his attention toward her neck and down to her tits, biting, licking, sucking every inch. Laying claim, she realizes with a shiver, marking his territory. It’s unbearable, it’s horrible, and when he starts flicking her nipples with his tongue, licking a stripe between her breasts, she wants to cry out from need. She bites down on the sound at the last second. She won’t give him the satisfaction.

He rolls her jeans down her legs painfully slow, her panties with them, and she’s wet already, can feel how she’s dripping down the crease of her thigh, and she wants she wants she wants him. Wants to be full, wants him to fill her up, wants wants _wants_.

She must say that out loud because Ben seems to lose his mind a little, flipping her onto her stomach like she weighs nothing, tearing her shirt over her head so that her hair falls into her face. He shoves her down flat against the bed, holding onto her wrists so she can’t move, can’t buck herself up against him the way she wants to, needs to. He holds her like that for a minute. Lets her squirm until she’s keening, babbling nonsense, hips wriggling in a desperate attempt for friction, for anything.

”Nobody else could make you feel like this,” he says, low and filthy, his teeth grazing her earlobe. He sounds almost relaxed, almost casual, and Rey doesn’t even want to think about how she must look, the kinds of noises she’s making. He must be fucking satisfied now. “Look at you.”

”Ben,” she pants, half out of her mind as he takes off his clothes, pushing her back down when she bucks up against him again, “shut up and fuck me already.”

He drags the head of his cock along her folds, presses it against her clit, and Rey all but _sobs_. 

”Say you want this,” he orders. He slides his cock down, dips inside. She can hear it in the shake of his voice, his control slipping. “You want me to be the only person who makes you feel like this.”

She nods, strands of her hair catching on her open, wet mouth. She is a god damn train wreck, she is a disaster zone, people will come from miles away just to look at all the _destruction_ \- ”Yes,” she pleads. “I want it, Ben, just - fuck, _please_ -“

He shifts forward, and Rey moans, long and unashamed. Even with just the tip, she can feel him throbbing, can feel herself shaking with the effort of holding her body together. She feels fragile, like crystal, like the minute he starts to move she’ll shatter into pieces.

His forehead presses against her shoulder blade; he drops a kiss against the smooth skin of her back and pushes the rest of the way in.

The stretch is different than usual, but she can’t figure out what it is exactly. It’s good - almost on the wrong side of too much, and Rey hears herself let out a little sound, _oh, _when he’s buried in her _-_ just like that - her fingers reaching over the back of her neck to curl into his hair. She can feel Ben’s arms shaking as they bracket her middle, with restraint, with effort, when he finally starts to move.

An interesting thing about Ben fucking her that never really changes is his mouth. He never can stop talking, words pouring out of him in a way that seems almost accidental, and from the second he enters her until the second he finishes he doesn’t stop running commentary.

He’s quiet inside of her now. Rey thinks that almost might be worse.

She’s dimly aware that she’s still loud, whimpering, making a fucking racket, and when he starts thrusting into her, she hears him laugh, dark and humorless.

”All of this,” he says, quiet enough in her ear that she’s almost not sure it’s really him, “is mine.” He tugs her hair back, exposing her throat. Bites down until she cries out from the pain, the pleasure, pleasure-pain, almost too much, not enough. That’s Ben hard inside her, splitting her open: almost too much, not enough. “The way you’re dripping down all over me right now - I’m the only person who is ever going to get this, and it’s fucking mine. Your tits, your ass, this sweet little cunt. _Mine_.”

The angle of him is so good, new and devastating, and she can’t even put together a sentence to respond, but he keeps going anyway, marvels on how wet she is, how loud she’s being, he can feel the way she’s shaking, how much she needs him to make her come, her cunt so warm and tight and welcoming, and does she want to come now?

He’s keying her up, Rey can feel herself being drawn tighter and tighter and tighter like a bowstring, until she feels like she might snap in two, until she -

She chokes out, ”Yes, Ben.”

”Say it.”

”I want to -“

“No,” he growls, and he stops completely. Before she can whimper out a protest, she’s off the bed, rearranged on her back, filled up again. It drags a noise from her throat she didn’t know she could make. She sounds like an animal.

Sex, she thinks, can’t possibly be like this. No one would ever get anything done.

Ben cages her against him with one arm, his other hand slipping between them to rub her, hard and fast, his hips snapping forward. Her body is spread open under him, and she’s never been more exposed, never been more vulnerable than like this, but she’s not feeling the absurdity of it yet. It registers like pain, like the moment after you break a bone, before you realize it hurts. A vague recognition of _this isn’t normal, but it is interesting_. She’s unmoored, untethered, out of herself. “Look at me,” he says, “look at me,” and she does, she holds his gaze while he tells her, “You’re mine, say it,” and she does, she says, “I’m yours, I’m yours.”

This is the worst thing about it: she wants to say it. Whatever he wants from her, whatever he tells her to do, she wants to do it, be it, give it. Whatever he wants to take from her, she wants to give him.

She comes like that, still looking at him, her mouth open, the sounds she’s making long since out of her control, and it breaks something in Ben, she can feel him coming too, hot and wet inside of her, thrumming through her. Every part of him touching every part of her. Every deep, hidden part, every single space, there he is.

He realizes quicker than she does. She’s still dazed, out of it, trying to get air into her lungs, breath rattling through her teeth. He stays inside of her for a long while, pressing kisses here and there on her shoulders, his fingers tracing over the freckles on her cheeks like he’s just seeing them, like they are wonderful, an unanticipated boon. Ben notices after he’s softened, after he pulls out.

”Oh, shit,” is all he says at first, a note of worry coloring his tone.

And here’s the thing: they’ve talked about it before. Rey isn’t on birth control and hasn’t been since the end of her last relationship (4 months long, over a year ago). Because she doesn’t like the way it makes her feel, doesn’t like having to wake up early to take it no matter what, doesn’t like how it makes her completely uninterested in sex, and using condoms, she figures, works just fine the rare times she is getting any. And she’s clean, knows Ben is too, knows there’s nothing to worry about there, and they even fucked without a condom once, just to try it out, when he pulled out and spilled himself on her stomach and it was good, enjoyable, she would even do that again.

This is different.

”I thought - I’m a fucking idiot, I thought I put one on, I swore I did.” When she looks, she sees the foil condom packet, intact and untouched, is resting on top of her pillow. Ben seems - on the verge of full-blown panic. “We can get Plan B, it’s fine, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s good. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

Rey shifts, stretches her arm down her body, runs a fingers through her folds. She can feel it, thick, filling her, some of it spilling onto her blankets. She thinks, vaguely, she’ll have to wash her sheets tonight. Ben is still going on, apologizing, while this thing - this thing that’s not supposed to be there, not supposed to be inside of her - trickles out.

”Fuck,” she mumbles dizzily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> practice safe sex, kids
> 
> i will spoil this much for this fic - rey does not get pregnant. rest easy, my friends.
> 
> [HELP ME GET AWAY FROM MYSELF](https://youtu.be/ccY25Cb3im0)


	19. screw this whole sloppy backseat blow job of a night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick update because i had no work today!! Cool

_ I guess this is what it’ll be like when our kids go to college, too, huh, sweetie? _

Yeah, dream the fuck on.

** 19\. screw this whole sloppy backseat blow job of a night**

“We should absolutely not have sex again.”

Rey frowns. “Why not?”

She’s still on the bed, still naked, while Ben gets dressed across the room, trying his level best to ignore her while she contorts her body in increasingly ridiculous _come-hither_ positions.

He gives her a withering glare while he zips up his pants - no small feat. Anyone else attempting such a look with their dress shirt still unbuttoned would fail miserably, but he manages to convey some real derision. It makes Rey unreasonably amused. “Having unprotected sex once is bad enough," he says. "Doing it twice is begging for out-of-wedlock pregnancy.”

”But I’m already going to get the Plan B, and I’ll take it as soon as I get back,” she defends. “It’s, like, fifty fucking dollars. We might as well enjoy the freedom that comes with this unfortunate situation and make it worth the money. Also, _out-of-wedlock pregnancy_, what kind of patriarchal, 1950s nuclear family, mother-can't-wear-pants-and-father-has-three-mistresses timeline did you stumble out of?”

”Rey, no. It’s a bad idea.”

”I think we’re wasting a valuable opportunity.” She sits up on the bed, stretching one leg out to point her toe at him. She watches his eyes crawling up the curve of her knee, sees him swallow hard. "It would be a sin if we didn't."

"Sin is part of being alive."

"Perfect," she says quietly. He hesitates, his hands pausing briefly on their journey up his shirt, and she shifts, leaning back to let her hair fall across her shoulders. She likes the feeling of having her hair down, in a way she never did before. The gentle tickle of it at her back, the feeling of it warming her neck. She's growing accustomed to leaving it loose.

Ben sighs heavily, the sound of defeat, his fingers finally stilling at the last button on his collar. “Alright, we can fuck one more time, and then I’m driving you to the Walgreen’s.”

Rey smiles, and she watches Ben as his expression softens, just a little. “Good. But I'm driving myself.”

”I’m not letting you pay for your own morning after pill, it’s my fault this is happening.”

Rey arches an eyebrow. ”Ben. Be realistic. You are a public figure. People know what you look like, and you don’t exactly blend into a crowd. You cannot be seen even driving someone to buy an abortion pill, let alone buying it yourself. You know this.”

He thinks on that for a moment. ”It’s not an abortion pill, technically,” he says.

”What?”

”An abortion pill is -“

”I know what an abortion pill is, Ben!” Insufferable. Impossible. It’s outrageous how attracted she is to him when he’s being so pedantic. He reminds her of a mean and fastidious professor, with his powder blue shirtsleeves; she wonders idly when it would be a good time to share that particular fantasy with him. “You’re not taking me to the pharmacy, and that’s final. Now take your clothes off, let’s get one more in under the wire.”

”You’re so fucking bossy,” Ben grumbles, but he’s following her directions anyway, undoing the just-finished buttons of his shirt. “It’s hot.”

”I know,” she says. “Now get back over here.”

When Rey is on top of Ben, her knees straddling his waist, him fucking into her bare, she rolls herself along the length of his cock, slow and measured. Deep. She keeps up that agonizing pace until he’s panting, begging her for more, and when it seems like he's ready to lose it, his fingers digging into her thighs as he groans, she picks up speed, fucking herself on him rough and fast. She brings her face close to his, her mouth brushing his mouth.

Tells him, “You’re _mine_. Say it.”

He gasps out the words, “Yours, I’m yours,” and spends himself inside her.

It takes about fifty reassurances that she can handle driving herself to the drugstore before Ben finally relaxes about her leaving.

“If you’re really that concerned about me,” she says, pulling on her coat, “you can wash the dishes.”

”Is this your way of asking me to wash your dishes?”

”Maybe.”

He drags a hand over his face, runs his fingers through his hair. ”It’s not that I think you can’t do it. I just - I want you to know you don’t have to go alone.”

”Baby, it’s really fine,” she says, distracted as she searches through her closet for her other boot. “I’ve taken the morning after pill before with one of my exes when the condom broke, and it’s not a big deal. I’m really okay.” Rey straightens up once both of her shoes are on, stopping short when she sees Ben staring at her. “What?”

”Nothing,” he says, trying and failing to hide a smile. “Nothing.”

”What? Do I have something on my face, what is it?”

Ben is - gazing at her. There is no other word for it. “It’s really nothing. Text me if you need anything, okay?”

Which is how she finds herself queueing up for the pharmacist alone, debating whether or not to buy the on or off brand Plan B pill. They are, according to the pharmacy tech, essentially the same.

If Ben were here, that designer-everything, Whole Foods eating (she’s not sure about the accuracy of this, but he has _organic granola asshole_ written all over him) motherfucker, she knows he’d spend the extra ten bucks on the name-brand packaging _just to be safe_. However, since he’s not -

“The cheaper one, definitely.” Rey hands over her card, about to pay, when she decides on a whim to buy a sleeve of peanut butter cups. She’s pretty sure Ben likes them, since she once saw him take one piece from the jar on Rose’s desk when he thought no one was looking. She’s sure he justifies it by saying peanut butter has at least some nutritional value. “And these too, thanks.”

She forgoes a bag, her arms holding the box and the peanut butter cups to her chest when, turning the corner onto the sidewalk, she walks bodily into -

“Amilyn?”

The older woman steps back, a smile lighting on her face. ”Oh, Rey! My goodness, it’s so great to see you!” She tugs Rey into a hug, Rey’s arms trapped between them. Amilyn is still grinning when she releases her, murmuring, “I’m sorry, honey, I just _love_ running into people, this city is just like a small town sometimes. Everyone knows everyone, you know what I mean?”

”Yeah,” she fake laughs, “it sure feels like that sometimes.”

”I was just on my way to buy some cat food,” Amilyn goes on. “By the way, if you know anyone who’s looking to get a kitten, please put me in touch with them. My friend’s cat just got knocked up, and she's turning it into my problem.”

”Ha. I’ll definitely let you know.” Rey notices, just a beat too late, that Amilyn’s eyes have dropped to the box in her hand. “Oh, this - this is just -“

”Rey.” Amilyn gently strokes her knuckles on Rey’s shoulder, her eyes kind. “Honey. There is no need to explain or justify anything to me. Your life is _your_ life. I’m proud of you for taking control of your narrative.”

_Someone please kill me._ “That is - such a sweet thing to say, ma’am.”

Amilyn swats her hand through the air in dismissal. ”Oh, please, you don't have to call me that.”

She nods, a small smile forming despite herself. “Amilyn. I’ll let you know if anyone is looking for a pet. It was - so great to run into you.”

”Likewise! And I’m sure we’ll be running past each other tomorrow anyway.” Amilyn walks past her, saying over her shoulder as she steps into the store, “Have a great night!”

”Have a good night,” Rey calls back.

In the parking lot, her junker of a car sits idle under a lone yellow light, and Rey groans in embarrassment as she walks to it, the pill box still clutched to her chest.

”Motherfucker,” she hisses.

_REY._

_BABYDOLL._

_GUESS WHO IS IN YOUR NECK OF THE WOODS._

She’s almost back to her apartment when she gets the messages, Rose’s name blinking on her phone screen as she turns back into her building’s parking garage.

_omg where are you?_

_literally in the lobby of your building lol come get me bitch!!!!!_

Oh, fucking A.   
  
  


_I’m actually not home right now :/_

_that’s cool! i can wait for you i have literally nothing better to do. lmk when you’re close by, im just gonna read shitty new yorker articles on my phone_

Rey stares at her phone, open-mouthed. “This cannot be happening,” she mutters, her fingers hovering over her keyboard as she thinks frantically about what to say that might get rid of her or Ben beyond shooting them both in the face. “Fucking shit.”

_Okay I’ll be back in like ten minutes! Sit tight until then._

Her apartment is old as fuck. There is no other description for it. She’s pretty sure it was built during the Civil War, as if there was nothing better to do back then, and it shows. It’s half the reason why she can afford it. As a result, there is one lobby, one staircase, and one hallway on each floor to walk down.

So, barring him leaping from her second story window, there is absolutely nowhere Ben can go without running directly into Rose, and without Rose running directly into him.

_Motherfucker._

She scrolls through her contact list until she sees BEN PERSONAL and presses the call button.

”Girl,” Rose squeals when Rey walks in through the door. In one of her hands, a bottle of tequila and a bottle of triple sec dangle precariously, while in the other, she holds a bag full of little plastic lime-shaped bottles. “I know it’s a school night, but we’re making margs. It’s happening.”

”That sounds great!” It doesn’t. “Where’s Finn? Why didn’t you just let yourself into my room, don’t you have the spare key?”

”I may or may not remember where Finn put that,” Rose says, following Rey as she goes into the stairwell. Rey takes the triple sec from her hand, swinging it on her thigh, every step up the staircase another nail in her god damn coffin. “He’s with his old frat brothers and I didn’t want to bother him while he was out, and I was so fucking bored sitting at home, I thought we could do a girls night! I know, I know, I should’ve called first but it was very spur of the moment since I was already out picking up bagels for tomorrow and -”

Rose keeps monologuing as they climb the stairs, all the way down to her apartment at the end of the hall. The Plan B box feels bulky in her coat pocket, and Rey tries to ignore it, tries to focus on Rose’s theories about the most recent season of _MasterChef _being rigged. She turns the key to her door so slow she feels like she’s been steeped in molasses.

When the door opens, Ben is standing by the kitchen counter in full view, a bottle of beer held aloft in his hand.

Rose stops talking the moment she sees him.

Ben smirks, taking a sip from his IPA. Rey watches the line of his throat as he swallows. “Your life is not going to be a sitcom, Rey, no matter how hard you try,” he says coolly, “and I am not hiding in the bathroom.”

”Oh my fuck.” Rose steps into the apartment, dropping the tequila and the lime juice on the coffee table carelessly. She lands down on the sofa, her eyes bright, torn between confusion and excitement. “Something is happening."

"You could say that," Rey says faintly.

"So you guys are like -“

”Sleeping together,” Rey replies, while at the same time Ben says, “Dating.”

Rey glances at Ben, and he holds her gaze, a slight smile tipping up the edges of his mouth. “Dating,” she corrects, feeling her face flush. _Dating_.

Under different circumstances, she would probably be bursting into song, a la Joseph Gordon-Levitt in that sad boy movie. As it is -

”Well, clearly all of this is dramatic as fuck,” Rose says. “Ben - can I call you Ben?”

”I think we’re beyond any formalities.”

”Point taken. Ben, I am just super intrigued to know every single thing about you wooing the love of my life away from me.”

”Finn is the love of your life,” Rey says.

”Yes, romantically, but not friendshipally.” Rose pats the space on the couch next to her, beckoning for Ben to join her, grinning slyly. “Come here, tall man, you have knowledge I wish to claim.”

Rey catches Ben's eyes as he goes, trying to compose her expression into something that silently conveys _I am sorry that my friend is so weird and aggressive please don’t hate me for this but I still need to take that dumb pill so forgive me for leaving you alone with her._

”I have to go to the bathroom,” she announces. Ben’s expression as he sits down on the couch all but screams _why are you doing this to me._ She shrugs in apology, walking past the couch to her bedroom. “Please, not too many questions.”

”I will make no promises to that effect,” Rose shouts behind her, and as Rey closes the door she hears the words, “Benjamin Whatever-Your-Middle-Name-Is Solo, you _dog_ -“

Once the door closes, it’s quiet. She can still hear the low din of their conversation through the wall, the rumble of Ben's voice deep and familiar. Rey grips the box in her pocket, crushing the plastic in her fist.

”Okay,” she says under her breath. “Okay.”

It takes her a few minutes to find a pair of scissors to cut the thing open. She remembers this part - how jarringly small the pill was in comparison to its packaging. In the bathroom, she swallows it, rinsing it down with water from the tap, and stands back up.

She looks at her face in the mirror. Her light brown hair, still undone, frizzing around her temples, her hazel eyes, the smattering of freckles scattered across her face. Not too bad, she thinks. She doesn't look like someone who just had unprotected sex. Twice. She looks like - she doesn't know who she looks like.

Rey has never had a mother. She was taken out of her parents' home when she was too young to remember, and neither of them ever made an effort to stay sober long enough to get her back. She saw them for the last time as a child when she was three and didn’t set eyes on them again until she was twenty-two.

And it’s - it’s fine.

Rey knows her parents did their version of what was right by her, letting her go. When she met them again, they were both clearly drunk, probably on something worse, the house around them falling into shambles, crumbled into nothing. As much as she hated foster care, as awful and abusive and spiteful as some of the families were, she realized, seeing them, that she had been given at least a fighting shot. A chance to live without them dragging her down into the dirt.

She remembers her father speaking incoherently, saying something about his father, about his father’s father, about his father’s father’s father, and so on, ad infitinitum.

”Straight down the line,” he mumbled, his speech so slurred she could barely understand it. “Nothing but hate.”

He asked her not to hate them too, and her mother looked at her and wailed, and Rey thought, strangely, that she couldn't see any of her features in either of them. Not so much as her sharp chin, the whorls of her ears, the set of her brow. Not even her freckles.

And Rey is - she has never wanted to be a mother. She knows that, just looking at herself in the mirror, she knows it in the fact that she’s never kept so much as a plant in her home, in the fact that she’s spent her life keeping people at arm’s length. She knows she is doing right by herself, taking the pill, because she has never wanted a child.

But -

With a sudden flip in her gut, she imagines, for the first time, that she might someday.

When she comes back out, Ben is in the middle of his sentence. He turns back when the door shuts, his eyebrow raised in question. She nods slightly, and his mouth quirks as he finishes his thought.

”Babe,” Rose says as she approaches, her voice muffled around her plastic cup which, Rey is sure, is full of alcohol, “this is genuinely the cutest story I’ve ever heard.”

Rey grins, taking in the blush staining Ben’s cheekbones. “I'm sure.”

”I might have edited a bit,” he says. “Where it was appropriate.”

”He means he didn’t tell me about the sex, which I can live with.”

”_Rose._”

”Girl," Rose says, leaning over to whack Rey as she sits down, "I don’t know why you’re not already mixing a margarita, but it’s a travesty. Get to it.”

Rey grumbles, half in irritation, half in fondness, and starts measuring out her drink on the table.

Ben leaves after the first drink to Rose’s strong protestations, justifying his exit by saying that he needs to change clothes for work.

Rey walks him into the hallway, letting the door swing shut behind her while Rose winks, cheesy and obvious. Rey rolls her eyes, letting out a small huff of laughter when she meets his stare.

”I’m -“ She pauses when she puts her hands in her jacket pocket, feeling the forgotten sleeve of candy. She hands him the packet of peanut butter cups, and he takes them, his eyebrows knitting together. “These are for you, by the way. Anyway, I’m really sorry about all of this, this - ambush -“

Her sentence is cut short when he leans into her, kissing her. Her hand comes up by its own accord, hovering just by his hair. His mouth moves in hers gently. Almost tender. When he pulls back just barely, Rey can’t say anything. The space around them feels strange, like static is sparking through the air.

”See you tomorrow,” he murmurs into her skin, “_baby._" Without another word, he walks down the hallway to the stairs, not glancing behind him as he leaves.

Rey’s hand stays up like that, her fingers curled around nothing, for the longest time.

She realizes suddenly, a way too late and a thousand dollars short, that she could have told Rose she was out on a date as an excuse. Rose would have bought that, hook, line, and sinker, and gone home.

Rey turns around and walks back into her apartment, still able to feel the press of his lips against hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just yr daily reminder that ben and rey both drop about 100 iq points whenever they interact im sorry i dont make the rules
> 
> [~*~ i won’t treat you like you’re oh so typical ~*~](https://youtu.be/9e9NSMY8QiQ)


	20. don’t give me that quaker-in-a-titty-bar look

_ Alright, let me just talk to my people. You got any people I could talk to? _

** 20\. don’t give me that quaker-in-a-titty-bar look**

(_DRINK ONE_)

Rey has read the classics, and liked them, and hated them, and been bored by them, and all of it. She has taken a semester-long course on _capital-R Romantic_ literature. She has listened to the radio. She has watched a million television shows. She has seen movies. She has listened to people, friends and acquaintances and strangers on the bus, weep and wail and act like the world has ended in a way no one else can comprehend.

So she knows about love. She knows - all about it. She knows it’s what made Romeo and Juliet fuck and then die, and Cathy and Heathcliff fuck and then die, and Gatsby and Daisy fuck and then die, and - and yeah. _All about it_.

She knows about it the way she also knows about the moon: that it is there, lurking, big and solemn. Appearing distantly. Controlling the ocean waves and changing men into wolves that gnaw on bones and tear people limb from limb and let blood and viscera drip down their knife-like teeth.

So Rey knows all about love. She’s pretty sure.

She downs half of her drink and does not glance over at Ben. She looks, instead, at the ceiling. Listens to the sound of his voice, low and sure and rhythmic as the tide.

(_DRINK TWO_)  
  
Rose is staring at her, eyes wide, mouth stretched in an open grin, when Rey gets back to the couch. 

It’s quiet for a moment, before Rose breaks the silence with: “Do you remember how you told me you don’t like Ariana Grande because you just, quote unquote, _don’t vibe with her_?”

Rey laughs in spite of herself, the sound of it accidental and unintended. “I don’t recall ever using the phrase _vibe with_ in regard to anything, let alone Ariana Grande," she says, "but if I did say that, it's only because her whole thing freaks me out. She has this tiny little body and giant hair."

”I don't disagree with that. I just want you to be aware that you are straight up _Dangerous Woman_-ing right now,” Rose says, her fingers flying up on her hand, one by one, as she lists the reasons. “Like, you are Into You, you are Side to Side, you are Everyday, you are Greedy, you are Bad Decisions, you are Dangerous Woman. Fully and completely _Dangerous Woman_-ing.”

Rey takes in a breath, considering that for a minute. ”I don’t know what any of those words mean,” she confesses.

”It means,” Rose sing-songs, “that for once you are thinking with your heart-brain and not with your brain-brain.” She finishes off the last dregs of her margarita, slamming the cup on the table with as much definitiveness as the plastic will allow. “Or you’re just thinking with your pussy.”

Rey chokes, her drink spilling out of her mouth and back into her glass. “Jesus fuck,” she sputters.

”What’s the sex like? It’s amazing, right? He has, like, Michael Fassbender’s penis?”

”Unlike you, I don’t know what that looks like.”

”Just watch _Shame_ and you’ll see it pretty much the first second.” Tequila spills out as Rose measures another shot, splashing onto the coffee table. “Don’t distract me. What’s the sex like?”

”It’s -“ Rey pauses, groping for the right word. She doesn’t manage to find it. Everything accurate seems too explicit, almost pornographic, and everything appropriate for conversation feels like it would barely scratch the surface.

How is she supposed to describe it? What is the protocol? The accepted language? She could wax poetic about the way his muscles flex under his pale skin when he first thrusts into her - that initial stretch, the feeling of _too big, too much_ that always eases into toe-curling pleasure. She could talk about how, when she cants her hips up into his, begging him to go deeper, to give her more, to give and give, she feels like she’s barely even Rey anymore, like Rey has left the fucking building and the woman left in place is a thing of want and want alone. She could tell Rose about the way his mouth lingers on her throat after he comes inside her body, teeth threatening her pulse, tongue tracing her jaw, whispering words she can never quite hear into her neck. She could write essays on his aquiline nose, the unexpected amber of his eyes, his dimples when he smiles, always at her, _only_ at her, the aristocratic arch of his brow when she argues with him, incredulous and bemused and contrary all at once. The fact that one morning, early, while he was still asleep, she’d pressed a finger to the bow of his lips and drawn it down to his chin, like she was checking to make sure he was real, like she couldn't quite believe him. How, when he woke up to the touch, she kissed him full on the mouth, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, accepted him into her body. Her eyes drifting closed, hands buried in the nest of his hair, the sunlight on her face, the way she’d almost wanted to cry. Because she was, of all things, happy. Because she wanted him so very much.

“It's an event,” she decides on.

Rose nods, her expression serious. ”I am loving that for you,” she says.

(_DRINK THREE_)

The room swims in front of her, and Rey blinks hard, trying to adjust. Rose doesn’t seem much better off, her legs half dangling off the end of the couch, head in Rey’s lap, humming to herself, her voice occasionally breaking into songs that Rey doesn't recognize.

”Why did you let me have another drink?” Rose mumbles, rubbing the heel of her palm over her eyes. “I’m gonna have to Uber home, and Finn will lecture me on vehicular crime stats.”

”Stay here, you can borrow one of my shift dresses. Those things are basically one size fits all.”

”Oh god, and now I have to wear Ann Taylor." Rose lays a hand across her forehead, melodramatic. "My reputation will be in shambles. Shambles!”

”I’m too tall for regular department store women’s clothing,” Rey says, defensive. “It is an area of insecurity, and it breaks my heart that you’d use that against me.”

”You are not too tall for other stores, you’re just afraid of buying a skirt that bares a glimpse of your delicate ankle.”

”Those skirts go to the middle of my thigh," Rey says flatly. "I look like a hooker in business-wear.”

Rose giggles, unreasonably amused. "I guess you managed to seduce at least one person in your matronly ensemble.”

Rey snorts, self-deprecating. ”I wouldn’t call it a seduction.”

”What would you call it?”

Rey drags her palm down her mouth, letting her hand muffle her words as she rasps, almost to herself, ”A ten car pile-up.”

Rose scrambles into an upright position, twisting her torso so she can look at Rey head-on. “So were you going to tell me?”

Rey moans petulantly, dropping her head against the back of the couch. “I was. I really, really was. I was just - trying to figure things out first.”

”Figure things out like how?”

”Like -“ she gestures to the room at large, to herself, to the door Ben left through - _all__ of it_. “All of it. It’s complicated.”

”It’s not that complicated.”

”Yes, it is,” Rey says, ignoring the way Rose shakes her head. She repeats herself, louder and more confident, “Yes it is, because number one: he is my boss. Number two: it’s only been happening for a month. Number three: he is somewhat famous. Number - what number was I on?”

”Four,” Rose supplies.

”Number four: he’s ten years older than me. Number five: we could both literally lose our jobs. And number one million: I still have no idea how much long-term potential there is there." She shakes her whole body, a spasm of limbs. She feels uncoordinated. Coltish. Ben had called her that once, in such a way (his voice velvet-soft, knuckles grazing between her parted thighs) that it made her preen, even though coming from anyone else it would be an insult. _Coltish_. "God, I hate saying that, _long-term potential_. Like it’s a mortgage rate.”

”Rey, I know you. I _know_ you. You’re a smart, thoughtful person who makes smart, thoughtful decisions." Rose cocks her head, inspecting Rey like she is the presumed prize-winner at the Westminster Dog Show. "I can tell you right now, just after being with the two of you for a half hour, neither of you have not been smart or thoughtful about this at all. Like," she repeats, her voice slow, emphatic, "_at all_.”

”I know," Rey groans. "Oh god, I know. What is wrong with me? Why am I acting like this?”

Rose raises her eyebrows, looking like a particularly condescending teacher, as if the answer is just so _obvious_. ”Because you’re in love,” she says.

”What? No. What?" Rey chokes down a good three-quarters of her drink, the burn in her throat taking the edge off Rose's words. The room around her is waves, the ocean, saltwater, and she’s drunk stumbling around the shore. "People need to stop saying that to me. First Jannah, now you.”

”We’re saying it because it’s all over you. It’s sickening," Rose says, suppressed laughter threatening to break through every word. "You look at him like he hung the moon. I literally have never seen your dimples so much. I’ve seen Ben smile more just now than I’ve ever seen him smile, period.”

Rey ignores her heartbeat picking up speed in her chest, the lump in her throat catching around her breath. She is a champion of ignoring things, a professional denier. She could avoid acknowledging the apocalypse if it didn't suit her. She could teach a seminar on it; politicians could learn a thing or two. "It's - that's really not it."

Rose sounds nearly sober, even though Rey knows she's definitely drunker than she's letting on. ”Where do you see this going?" she asks. "Where do you want it to go?”

Rey shrugs, mouth down-turned and pouting. ”I don’t know.”

”Don’t pull that shit with me, Rey.”

”It’s so early," she protests. "I haven't even been to his apartment, I don’t even know his middle name. The election isn’t for another six weeks, and who knows if we’ll ever be doing this by then. Who knows if he’ll even want to.”

Rose makes a noise of skepticism in the back of her throat. ”Let's just say you are still 'doing this' by then," she says, the quote marks obvious in her voice, "what are you going to do then?”

”I don’t know. I can’t answer any of your questions. It’s - so much easier keeping it quiet, like it’s just us. Like nothing else matters. And -“ She hesitates, letting her breath out in a rush, "And I don’t know if I even _want_ other people to know.”

”Are you scared of what they’ll think of you?”

”No." Rey laughs humorlessly, her stomach tying itself in a knot. "I’m terrified of what they’ll think of _him_. He has a terrible reputation that’s not exactly unearned, and he had an extremely public and extremely hostile break from the White House. He’s a god damn pariah. I just - I just keep thinking about what people will think of me if they find out I’m with him, that they’ll say he’s angry and unstable and a fucking psycho, and then they’ll think I’m fucking _crazy_ for being with him or, or like they’ll _pity_ me, like I’m just this poor, sad, empty-headed, innocent little girl-child he took advantage of." She pauses, finishing off her drink, her voice hoarse. "None of which is true, not even remotely, but I know it’s what everyone will talk about and write about and I just - I’m not ready for that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for it.”

Rose is quiet for a moment, staring at her. ”Then why don’t you just end it now?”

Rey blinks, startled. ”What?”

”Why don’t you just break up with him?" Rose asks, her voice even. "You said yourself it’s early days, and you don’t know how much long-term potential there is. You just listed about a hundred reasons why it’s so complicated, so if it’s really too complicated for you, break up with him.”

Rey balks. “No,” she says, the word unnervingly resolute, her eyebrows knitting together.

”Why?”

”I don’t know why, but no.”

Rose holds her gaze. ”Yeah, you do. You know why.”

Rey - can’t think. “I -“

”Babe, you need to give yourself permission for something," Rose says, her features open and earnest. "_Anything_. Let yourself be happy for once, and fuck everything else. It'll either work out or it won’t, but you won’t know unless you let it happen. And, by the way, I promise I will personally kneecap anybody who says jack shit about you.”

A small breath of laughter pushes out of Rey’s mouth. ”Kneecap?”

”Yeah, bitch. Tonya Harding style.” Rose pantomimes stretching out a baton and whacking it at something close to knee-level.

Rey snorts, letting her eyes lift to the ceiling. ”Okay, that’s enough alcohol for you now,” she says.

(_DRINK THREE AND A HALF_)

After Rose calls Finn and slurs that she will be spending the night for _girl talk, honey bunny,_ ignoring the way Rey fake retches at the pet name, she stumbles to the speaker, trying to sync her phone to the Bluetooth.

Rey watches hazily from the couch, distantly aware that she still has to work tomorrow.

”Nothing works! Technology is broken forever and Will Smith was right!”

Rey lifts her head from the arm of the couch, squinting. “Will Smith is always right. What are you doing?”

”This is some _I, Robot_ shit I swear.” Rose picks up the speaker, shaking it between her hands. “Let me listen to Ariana Grande! I want to hear her!”

"Please do not play Incautious Female."

"Rey, I know you are purposefully saying the wrong title, and that only strengthens my resolve for you to hear it." The little trill of a successful connection emits from the speakers, and Rose squeaks in excitement. "Fucking_ finally._"

Rey watches Rose as she trips back to the sofa, landing heavily on her side while the music starts up. It's too loud, too overproduced, and Ariana Grande has an unsetting baby-sexy thing going on that does not work for Rey at _all_, but it is - somewhat relatable. Somewhat.

Rose gasps, drawing her attention again. She flips her body on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her as she faces Rey head on. "You should totally send him a selfie."

"Send _who_ a _what_?"

"Send Ben a selfie. Right now."

Rey instantly rejects it. "No. That is - very weird."

"No, it totally works, I did that when I started dating Finn."

"You and Finn are _not normal_, and that doesn't work for regular people."

"Are you trying to convince me that Ben is normal? Because, and I hate to tell you this, he's not."

"He is normal enough to find that strange."

"Uh, yeah, maybe if _I_ sent him one. If you send him one, he'll probably frame it." Rose grins, her whole face lighting up in excitement as she paws at Rey's arm. "It's not sexual, just send, like, a cute picture of your face, and then the eggplant emoji and the question mark emoji."

“First of all, that’s completely sexual, and second of all, I don't think he knows what emojis are."

Rose rolls her eyes. "He's not _that_ old."

"It's not his age, he just has the energy of someone who stopped paying attention to the world in 2007." Rey whines, pressing her hands over her ears exaggeratedly. "Play the soundtrack from _Cats_ please, I’m tired of this sexy baby crooning like the crooner she is.”

”I’m not letting you listen to Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat again, Rey, that was a _horrible_ winter.”

Rey laughs, sudden and loud, remembering something. She manages, between gasps for air, ”Oh my god, Ben has actually seen _Cats_. Like, the stage production. Isn't that ridiculous?" She is only somewhat conscious of the fact that the story clearly isn't as interesting to Rose as it is to her. "He says his mom made them all go when he was a kid and his dad literally went home at intermission because he couldn’t stand it, and then Ben faked sick the next time his mom wanted to take them and his dad had to go alone. For revenge.”

Rose lifts her eyes to the ceiling. ”Girl," she says, "you have got it _so_ bad. Send him a selfie now. Here, I’ll take the picture.” She lunges, stretching her arm across Rey's body, angling to reach while Rey holds her phone up, out of her grasp. "Fuck you, tall girl, let me do this for you -"

”I'm not doing your weird selfie thing!” Rey shrieks in laughter.

”It’s for your own good -“

”_No!_”

(_HANGOVER_)

When her alarm screams, Rey nearly falls out of her bed. She searches blindly for her phone, scrambling to shut off the irritating sound.

”Ugh,” Rose groans from the other side of the bed, “don’t ever let me drink like that on a school night again.”

”I was powerless to stop you, Rose, you were like a runaway train.”

”I just want to pretend like I’m still in college,” she moans into the pillow. “I never got hungover in college.”

”No, you just skipped class after drinking.”

Rey finally finds her phone, jabbing at the screen with her finger to stop the alarm, and registers, belatedly, three notifications from over an hour ago at, _Jesus_, 5:30 AM. From Ben. She distantly recalls texting him around 1 in the morning, but has no idea what she actually said.

She scrolls up to her messages and they are...something else.

_BEN_

_Ur cool_

_I drink_

_Whdt is ur middle name mtoherfucjer_

_Motjrfuckef_

_MOTHERFUCKRE_

Oh, Jesus Christ. She taps the bottom of the screen to check the damage, expecting to see something like_ I am afraid I must end our current dalliances due to the inebriated nature of your previous textual communications._ Instead, she reads:

_My full name is Benjamin Chewbacca Organa Solo._

_Don't tell anyone._

_Drink some water._

She claps a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle the sound of pure joy that comes out of her. It’s no good; Rose rockets upright in the bed, her hair knotted and tangled beyond belief.

”I’m going to die,” she announces, matter-of-fact, and flops back over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> callout post: rey saw cats (2019) in theaters and loved every minute
> 
> thank u dangerous woman era ariana grande 4 all that u do


	21. why is everyone always telling me to be nice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate transitional chapters but it couldn't be helped i'm sorry

_ It explains me, it really articulates me, it’s beautifully put together. Like me. _

** 21\. why is everyone always telling me to be nice?**

Things settle down at work, at least for them. Not for the campaign, of course. That’s ramping up every single week, all of them being worked to the bone on media outreach, on securing the youth vote and the senior vote, on reaching out to the women's caucus, to environmental lobbyists, to anti-gun organizations and pro-choice organizations and anti-this and pro-that and everything else anti and pro, so many different policy directives and initiatives and caucuses and grassroots efforts that it almost feels like a trick, like an overlong joke about how complicated politics can be. Rey feels half-formed sometimes, run ragged. She grows tired of her own voice as she answers the phone and leads people into Ben’s office and consoles them when they inevitably cry (she has no idea how those people are going to make it in D.C.; he’s not actually _that_ scary) and negotiates with and haggles with so many awful, irritating people she starts feeling a little like she will go apeshit and start frothing at the mouth the next time she hears the words, “What do you _mean_ I need an appointment?” She develops, after a week of it, an annoying little muscle spasm in her eye that feels like a tiny rubber ball bouncing inside the lid. She catches how it looks in the mirror once, and it makes her feel like an alien.

So it’s not so much the campaign that settles down as it is her. And Ben. Her and Ben and the thing between them.

After that night outside the bar, after he first kissed her, but before things had been (she hates this word, she hates it _so much_) _consummated,_ Ben couldn’t keep his hands to himself, even at work. _Especially_ at work. Now that they’ve eased into a facsimile of a routine he seems sharper again, back on his game. Not so distracted.

Which isn't to say he doesn't skirt the line. He practically plays jump rope with it.

There's the time he tugs on the back of her ponytail after he passes her down the hallway, Rey toting a heavy cardboard box to the record room. It's quick, pinching her hair between his index finger and his thumb and pulling down. Rey squeaks, startled, and he does nothing but grin and continue on in the other direction without a word. Another day, he calls the phone at her desk from his office, his voice gone low and dark as he describes, in excruciating detail, all of the things he'll do to her once he gets her alone. She has to press the receiver close to her ear lest somebody passing by catch the faintest murmur of Ben’s voice, and she has to hang up after a few minutes, when she feels tempted, wet and wanting, to start grinding herself down on the corner of her desk. That night, when he finally gets to her apartment, she jumps him the moment he walks through the door, and she makes him suffer until he apologizes, half-laughing, half-moaning, and promises never to do it again.

The worst one, though, is when they’re in his office, ostensibly working, ostensibly doing their jobs. Instead, he’s got her in his lap, opening her lips under his with his teeth and his tongue. It’s not heated in the least bit, barely even sexual - just his mouth moving in hers, his arms trapping her against his chest. It feels different, she realizes, because it feels like it’s going nowhere on purpose. Kissing just for its own sake.

They both nearly shoot out of their skins when there’s a knock on the door. Rey has to scramble to one of the chairs in front of his desk, plastering on a grimace to convey annoyance and frustration as she pulls an opened folder into her lap. Amilyn opens the door after Ben calls, the words clipped and angry, “Come in or fuck off.”

Amilyn chooses the former. Rey watches as she take both of them in, her face alight with restrained amusement.

”You know,” Amilyn says, laughter threatening to break through, “you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

Ben rolls his eyes, mouth down-turned and mean. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

”Hello, Rey.” Amilyn’s expression is almost saccharine as she looks at Rey, unbearably kind and considerate. Rey can’t help but feel weird about that, about the fact that her boss's boss saw her buying Plan B. The only thing that would make that worse is if Amilyn somehow knew why she was buying it.

“Ben,” Amilyn continues, her attention back on him, “we have a meeting you are on the precipice of being less than ten minutes early for.”

His voice is ice when he replies, “I’m walking out of the door now.”

Rey snorts, her eyes still glued to the paper in her hands. She has - absolutely no idea what this graph is for. That is probably not great. “Clearly.”

”Do you have something to say, Jackson?” His features are drawn tight and furious, but underneath that she can see a current of something like tenderness he only ever seems to show around her. And his mother, on occasion.

”Nothing at all,” she says airily, dismissive.

Ben stands, doing up the button on his jacket with one hand while the other knocks on top of his desk. He says, “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

”An hour,” Amilyn corrects.

”Not if I have anything to do with it,” he mutters darkly.

Rey can’t help her laugh at that, nose scrunching up at how entirely serious and completely annoyed he is that someone would dare even entertain the thought of wasting his precious time.

She realizes, a moment too late, how something shifts in Amilyn’s eyes, a dim flicker of confusion. It cuts through her open enjoyment like a buzzsaw, quick and brutal.

Rey curls her hands into fists and stares right at Ben. “Do try not to start a war with anyone while you’re gone,” she tells him, letting the sarcasm ooze out of her. “I’d rather not have to play clean up.”

His mouth twists, eyes bright. “No guarantees,” he says, and follows Amilyn out of the door.

And that’s the closest call they have, really. It does lead her to set a hard boundary of no more kissing at work, just to be sure nothing like that will happen again. So it’s actually not so bad.

Rey - and she hates admitting this, hates even thinking about it, because she's a full person in her own right, has her own ambitions and fears and desires and thoughts and opinions about the world beyond having a relationship (if she can call it that) with a man, and she has always hated that thing that some people do, where they pretend like you're not really worth anything until you're with someone, so she hates herself a little for feeling this - has never been happier.

It’s silly and more than a little ridiculous, her happiness. It makes her sunny and cheerful, it makes people at work stop and say, _wow, Rey, you’re looking chipper this morning_, their voices dripping with both derision and envy. She waves it off as a new kind of coffee, new energy bar, new Pilates classes, and she doesn’t stop smiling. Because she can’t. Because of how happy she is.

Then, one day, she looks up, and the election is three weeks away.

Rose can’t believe it.

“You still haven’t been to his apartment?”

Rey looks around the diner where they're eating dinner, narrowing her eyes as she hisses, “Rose, I think we should talk about this when we have time for it. Not when Finn goes to the bathroom.”

“Rey, it demands immediate discussion.” Rose leans forward, elbows on the table and hands clasped together like a prayer, beseeching. “He could be a hoarder. Or worse, a _minimalist_. With, like, all white walls and a twin bed and one single statue on a podium in the middle of his - god - 'open floor plan.' Honey," she continues gently, "you should have already been there by now.”

Rey shifts, crosses her legs, and doesn’t look Rose in the eye because -

Because she agrees with her.

It’s not like she doesn’t understand how difficult it can be to let somebody in. Her sudden panic right before Ben came to her place for the first time is proof enough of that, but, still. Still, she can’t help the twinge of disappointment she feels every time he says he’ll be by her place later, or he just has to go back to his place to grab something. It’s getting harder and harder to hide her dissatisfaction every time he leaves her apartment to go sleep in his own, and it's getting harder and harder not to assume it's because he simply doesn't want her there. Maybe he has crowd control problems; she wouldn't fucking know.

Rey is uncomfortably aware that the entire issue stems from the fact that she is trying too hard to be cool with everything. _Chill_. She is not a chill person. She's not laid-back or easygoing or casual. Quite the opposite, if anything.

“I know,” she says eventually. “I know. It's just - I feel weird about it. I don’t want to have to ask him to ask me to come over. I'll look pathetic.”

Rose shrugs. “Why not? That’s the first thing they teach you to do when you’re a kid. If you don’t know, ask. What’s the worst that happens?”

“He breaks up with me for attempting to invade his privacy.”

Rose glances up at her, disbelief written all over her features. “Girl. Be real. Do you really think he’d do that?”

Rey frowns, pouting. “No.”

“Then ask him." Rose slathers tabasco sauce over her chips, takes a long sip from her soda, and Rey watches, her eyebrows furrowed. _Tabasco? With chips?_ "You’ll feel better and he will know what you want and you will have opened up communication. It’s a win-win-win.”

Rey jerks her body. “But that’s so hard,” she whines, drawing out the words childishly.

“Literally if you don’t ask him I will for you. During a staff meeting.”

Rey narrows her eyes. ”You wouldn’t.”

“_Watch me._”

They stare each other down for a moment, high noon style. Rey breaks first. “Fine,” she grouses. “I will ask him. But let the record show that I am not pleased about it.”

Rose smiles, waving at Finn as he walks back to the table. “I can live with that," she says.

Rey has spent her entire life having to act older than her age. Sometimes, she wants to be childish. She thinks she’s earned the privilege.

But, still. Rose, god damn her, is right. So there Rey is, being the grownup again.

_Communicating_.

Ugh.

The conversation comes much faster and goes a lot quicker than Rey anticipated.

It’s late, nearly 8 o’clock, when she brings it up. His office isn’t the only one still in use, and she knows the number of stragglers among the staff is only going to get worse the closer they inch to the election. Rose has already been planning, somewhat maniacally, for hers and Finn’s somewhat-annual Halloween party. The end of the world party, as Finn has taken to calling it, the last party before half of the country decides, in the span of 24 hours, what will happen to the other half. The party celebrating Halloween and death and the most terrifying Tuesday in Rey's life, for more reasons than one. 

So they’re not entirely alone in the offices, and Rey leaves the door open when she comes in to tell him she’s headed out for the night. Ben glances up, distracted, and says, “See you.”

She’s nodding, about to turning on her heel and walk out of the door, when he clears his throat.

”Wait.” He’s looking up from the mountain of paperwork on his desk, his eyebrows still knit together in concentration. He is just - ridiculously cute. It makes her want to cross the room to him. She always wants to cross the room to him. “Are we - later?”

It takes her a moment to put together his meaning with so many words missing. She nods again and takes another step into his office, getting close enough to drop her voice. “Yeah. Whenever you’re finished up.”

He doesn’t smile, but something gentles in his face. “Good,” he murmurs, “good, I’ll swing by.”

Rose will kill her if she doesn’t do it now. This is why Rey straightens up a bit, says, "Actually. I was thinking? I could go to yours." She clears her throat, clarifying, "Your apartment?” She hates herself a bit; she sounds just like all the up-talking pseudo-intelligent trust fund kids she'd hated in grad school - her sentence disjointed, words ending an octave higher than intended.

Ben looks at her, his face giving nothing away. He has this thing about him sometimes, she thinks, something interesting that happens to his features. Like he’s dropped a shutter over his eyes, drawn a shade. Most of the time, he’s easy to read, his emotions simmering and broiling right under the surface of his skin, ready for him to pull out at his will, almost like a weapon.

She doesn’t know what to do when he closes himself off like this. She doesn’t know if she likes it.

After a moment that draws itself out for what feels like forever, Ben’s lips quirk up into a sort of smile. “Sure. I’ll text you the address when I’m all wrapped up here.”

Rey lets out her breath, a hiss of air. She feels her hands unclench, and that’s strange - she hadn’t noticed how they’d turned to fists at her sides. “Alright, I’ll - I’ll see you, then.”

He nods, and Rey turns on her heel, walks past her desk and through the hallway to the exit. She can’t quite tell, she thinks, if she feels excited or unsettled or something else entirely.

  
The address he sends her an hour later is in a part of town she’s never been to before. Rey has no idea what to expect when she starts driving, but she figures it out pretty damn quick on the way.

His neighborhood is, to put it gently, unbearably bougie.

Rey drives down a row of houses, each one bigger and more ostentatious than the last. She sees multiple bars with people spilling out onto the sidewalk, layered in Burberry scarves and Yves Saint Laurent coats, each establishment named something like _well.good_ or _TANGERINE &+ PEACH_; she spots a myriad of coffee shops with cutely colored windowpanes and painted murals lining the sides of the walls; she catches quick glimpses of clothing stores with neat, well-dressed mannequins out front and one single rack of no doubt fabulously expensive garments inside.

It’s not that Rey hasn’t seen ritzy neighborhoods before; she’s just never known a single person who could afford to live in one.

By the time she makes it to Ben’s building, she feels faintly dizzy from it all.

Rey makes it to his door half in a daze, her car keys still clutched in her palm. She hesitates before knocking on his door, her fist frozen for a moment above the wood. She thinks of how his eyes had closed off to her when she asked if she could go over, how he’s never invited her to his place before, how Rose said it should have already happened by now. She imagines, somewhat ludicrously, walking in to see a collection of creepy wooden puppets or weird, semi-pornographic posters hanging on the walls; she pictures opening his fridge and finding a human head inside.

She shakes her head to clear it, adjusts the strap of her purse on her shoulder, and knocks.

Ben doesn’t have his shoes on when he opens the door. Rey zeros in on this almost instantly, and she can feel how her mouth stretches into a grin, unreasonably giddy.

She watches him as he takes her in, too, his face lighting up in something that looks like contentment. He says, “You made it,” a note of wonder laced through his words. As if it was so difficult to find him.

Rey opens her mouth, about to tease him for having so little faith in her ability to follow a GPS essentially hand-holding her to his front door, when she grasps, all at once, that that isn’t what he meant in the slightest.

He says it, she realizes, like he hadn’t really expected her to come by at all. Like she is a tidy bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolates, delivered to his door: a lovely, unexpected little treat, just for him.

"I made it,” she says, hand raised in a wave. She doesn’t go in, though, doesn’t make to move her feet. They have been sleeping together for months, she has seen him naked and vice versa; there is no reason to act as if seeing his home is this strange new world.

Except for how it feels like it is.

She’s still stuck there when Ben reaches out, tugging on the open fold of her coat. She lets herself be moved, lets herself be pulled inside, laughing a little as she goes.

The first thing she notices is how utterly normal it looks. Her surprise must show on her face, because Ben looks around with her, commenting, “You were expecting a dungeon of some kind, I assume.”

”A sex dungeon, yeah,” she says, smirking. “Very _Fifty Shades of Grey_.”

”How topical of you.”

”Really? I actually feel like that reference is wearing a bit thin.”

”I’m not so great at keeping up with shit like that anyway, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

”Glad to hear it,” she murmurs offhandedly. She walks down the front hallway into the apartment, letting herself absorb -_ everything_. The black ladder shelf filled to the brim with books near the entryway, the oversized black leather sofa situated across from an unreasonably large television, the black dining room table with black wooden chairs, everything sensible and simple and obviously well made. She hangs her purse on one of the hooks Ben has along the wall and says, “I’m sensing a bit of a color theme.”

Ben doesn't smile, exactly, but it seems to be a close thing. “Oh, are you?”

“How long and how devastating was your goth phase?”

“It’s ongoing.”

Rey grins, glancing at him. He’s just - watching her. Waiting for her to explore.

She knows, suddenly, that this is a place he doesn’t often allow others to see. That it is out of the ordinary, maybe even rarer than that, for someone to be let inside, allowed to step through the arch of his doorway. Rey remembers his home in Manhattan, remembers seeing him for the first time outside of her door, remembers him asleep, two faded silvery scars on his face. Maybe, she thinks, he has been letting her in for a lot longer than she knows.

Rey trails her fingers along the spines of his books, some with titles she recognizes - _Thus Spoke Zarathustra, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, The Shining, The Haunting of Hill House, Goodbye, Columbus_ \- and others she doesn’t - _House of Leaves, The End of the Affair, Lincoln in the Bardo, Helter Skelter, Werewolves in Their Youth_. There is a record player perched in the corner by a curtained window, a keyboard sat beside it, white keys shining like ivory tusks. He has one lone fern on a plant stand there, its leaves verdant and overgrown.

There are no photographs, she notices, even just from first glance, nothing too obviously personal. Like it is a showing of a home: _here are some beautiful, well kept things, that you, too, could own if you lived here!_ Like he is reluctant to put out anything more sentimental that a few records and books, _just in case_.

Just in case someone should get close enough to see him.

Rey shrugs her jacket off her shoulders and walks further inside, Ben following closely behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [isn't it good, norwegian wood?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_V6y1ZCg_8)


	22. this country doesn’t deserve you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is ur reminder that the author doesn't know jack about shit so please be gentle!!! 
> 
> grey-orchids made a moodboard for this fic!!! i am so honored!!! check it out [here!](https://grey-orchids.tumblr.com/post/190521290642/fic-rec-screwdriver)

_ Don’t you see I had no choice but to go into politics and be extraordinary and a sex symbol? _

** 22\. this country doesn’t deserve you**

It starts with a simple enough question - _you play the piano?_ \- and ends with her naked below the waist, Ben driving into her while she leans back against the window, her shoulder blades pressed against the soft, black velvet of the curtain.

But first:

Rey looks around the room. It is something of an open floor plan, the dining room bleeding into the kitchen bleeding into the living room. It’s sparse - not quite minimalist, but something within spitting distance of it. She hears Ben as he heads to the kitchen, glances up at him as he takes out two wine glasses, a bottle of Merlot.

”Are you good with red?” He asks the question from across the room, and Rey has to raise her voice a little to answer in the affirmative.

The moon outside the window is full, huge and orange. A harvest moon. Rey feels a little like she is in outer space, drifting without a tether. She takes the glass of wine Ben gives her, but she doesn’t take a sip. She leaves it on the cabinet beside the record player, her eyes skimming over his collection. The last thing he played, she sees, was Joy Division - of fucking course.

”I kind of thought you didn’t want me to come here,” she says, strolling to the half-opened window. Ben doesn’t reply, and her hand presses down on the piano as she passes it. It’s not quite a keyboard, she can tell from closer up, but it’s not quite a piano either. It makes a dull thrum of noise as she pushes in. Her hair falls over her ears and into her face when she looks down at the row of pristine white keys. ”You play the piano?”

Ben’s voice is quiet when he says, “Yes. For a long time.”

“I always wanted to learn,” she muses, stroking the pads of her fingers over the ridges of the black keys. “Couldn’t afford lessons. Not that anybody would've taken me.”

“I used to hate having to practice.” He’s standing next to her now - he tucks the curtain of her hair behind her ear, lets his knuckles sweep along the line of her jaw. “I could show you a bit."

Rey nods, sitting down on the bench. Ben takes the space next to her, his broad frame half forcing her off the seat. She nearly tumbles off entirely until she’s suddenly lifted and rearranged so that she’s sitting on his lap.

Ben murmurs against the side of her throat, “This chair is not made for two people.” He reaches out, three fingers pressing a chord into the instrument. His hand easily stretches from the beginning of the octave to the end with room to spare. His fingers flex, the raised veins under his skin twitching, and the hand that’s settled on her waist tightens.

Rey squeezes her legs together, feeling a flush creeping along her neck. “Is this your move?” she asks, a bit breathlessly. 

His fingers drift across the right side of the keys, almost lazily plucking out half of a melody she doesn’t recognize. It’s soft, and lovely, and sad. He sounds mildly confused when he asks, a few beats late, “Is what my move?”

Rey plays a few notes with her index to demonstrate. “Do you play piano for all your dates?” She grins, stretching her hand out as far across the keys as she can. It still barely compares to Ben’s; his looks outrageously giant next to hers. “I gotta say, it’s a killer move. If I wasn’t already fucking you, I’d be trying to talk myself out of fucking you right now.”

”I don’t bring dates here,” Ben says, dismissive enough that Rey knows immediately he’s telling the truth. “I wouldn’t play for them even if I did.”

”Why not?”

He doesn't reply. Instead, his voice slips into a deeper register, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You thought I didn’t want you to come here?”

“Yeah,” she admits, adjusting her position on his lap. The wrong thing to do, it seems: he stiffens, both of his hands move to bracket her waist, the tips of his fingers nearly touching above her naval. He shifts her forward and back again, rocking her against him, and she gasps, a punctuation of sound that has him smiling. She can feel it, his mouth curling up against her skin. “A bit,” she finishes, cursing how stupidly breathless she sounds.

“I don’t like for people to come to my apartment,” he tells her, the sentence edged with something she can’t quite place. As he talks, he keeps moving her over him, and she lets him, lets herself be moved, his fingers sliding down her torso. “I don’t like most people.”

”So why did you let me?"

Ben stands up with her still in his lap, but she’s only off balance for the briefest moment before he flips her around, lifting her to sit on the top of the piano. He opens her up like a book, pulling her forward until he can slot himself between her legs. “I already told you that,” he says, his face inches from hers. His eyes drop to her mouth, and she is going to _melt_. She is going to melt away into nothing and ruin his beautiful hardwood floors.

She wastes her last coherent sentence on, “Already told me what?” and then his lips are on hers.

Rey sort of loses track of what happens after that.

He’s kissing her, and it’s good the way it always is, his tongue slipped inside her mouth, his teeth biting down on her bottom lip. And then somehow her pants are being peeled off, and she is tilted back, her mouth open, her legs open, all of her open and spread to his liking. She can hear the dissonant sound of the piano being jostled out of place (she thinks she manages to gasp this out, how they’ll break the instrument, because Ben hoists her easily -_ so _easily, she wants him to carry her everywhere from now on, he would totally do that if she asked him to - to perch against the windowsill), and then he is dipping his cock halfway into her cunt. He says once, “Jesus,” and again when he’s finally inside her, “Jesus,” (she thinks she says something funny in response to that, maybe, _I thought you didn't like that guy_, because he laughs, out of breath, and thrusts into her rougher than before). She wraps an arm around his neck, fingers curled into his shirt, holding on for dear life, her other hand pushing against the arch of the wall by the window like she’s trying to hang on to something tangible that isn't Ben, like she is trying to keep herself from floating away.

He fucks her like that, moves through her body like it’s made of water, and the last thing she thinks of before her mind goes blank is the harvest moon in the darkened sky, an astronaut jettisoned from her ship.

He shows her a few basic hand positions on the piano, Rey sitting, fully clothed again, in his lap. She drinks the glass of wine while he tells her, almost guiltily, how much he wanted to quit when he was a child, how he would beg his parents to let him stop lessons, how much he begged them to let him quit quiz bowl and art class and Hebrew School and nearly every extracurricular activity they ever put him in. He couldn't sit still for anything, he says, couldn't understand why they wanted him in all those activities. He felt like they were trying to keep him out of the house as often as they could, and he resented it, would conveniently forget when he was supposed to go to what lesson, do his best to avoid practicing, throw tantrums and fake sick and do whatever he could to get out of going. None of it worked.

"If I could retroactively give you all my old piano lessons," he tells her, the words half wishful, "I would."

Rey shrugs, smiling a little, and murmurs, "But then you wouldn't be able to show off."

She presses her hand down on top of his, moving his knuckles down with the tips of her fingers, and makes the instrument sing.

  
She wakes up alone.

She knows the apartment is empty; Ben tends to make a lot of noise, and it’s only due to the grace of her ability to sleep very heavily that he doesn't wake her up when he makes coffee and eggs. The other side of the bed is rumpled and cold, the glass of water by the nightstand empty.

Rey lays in bed for a while longer, eyes tracking the cracks in the ceiling (those are for show, she’s fairly certain, to make the apartment look weathered and vintage). Eventually, she has to stand up and use the bathroom, and she does so, grumbling all the while.

It’s Saturday, so it’s likely he left early for a morning meeting or seven. She ignores her disappointment when she checks her phone and sees he hasn’t messaged her about how to let herself out.

She can definitely figure it out, but still. It’s the principle of the thing.

His bathroom is enormous, and Rey decides to take advantage and shower because fuck it, right. It’s not like she ever gets really good water pressure and, Jesus, super nice smelling bath salts, and a row of soaps that Rey is sure cost more each than she spends on bathroom products every year.

She kind of hates how much nicer his hair is than hers, but after using his shampoo and conditioner and moisturizing cream she can understand why. She stands under the water, enjoying how luxurious she feels, like she's staying in a fancy hotel, until it starts to lose some heat and she has to get out.

It’s while she’s brushing her teeth that she sees it. Honestly - and she is being actually sincerely completely honest, not even the fake honest she sometimes likes to be, the convenient honest - she doesn’t mean to read the label. Ben never leaves a mess, so he must have been in a rush, so that’s likely why he left the pill bottle sitting next to the sink, still uncapped, the label facing her with the word _ADDERALL_ in neat black uppercase letters.

Rey’s first instinct is, strangely, to close her eyes. It only takes her another moment to discern that this will not prevent her from having seen it. So the cat? Out of the bag, and definitely not about to get back in.

A loud, discordant buzz interrupts her thoughts. Rey startles, hand reaching out automatically to grip her phone from where it’s perched on the edge of the sink.

_Are you still at the apartment?_

Rey considers, for a moment, lying and saying she’s already gone home, just to avoid an awkward conversation. She texts back:

_Yes._

He only takes another moment to respond.

_Good._

_I’m heading back now. You can stay._

_If you want._

Rey sees the note when she makes it out to the kitchen, the paper slightly crumpled and the pen still uncapped. The handwriting is atrocious, unlike his usual tidy penmanship. She can just barely make out, _help yourself to _(there's a word in the middle that's illegible)_ food_ and the number _11:30_. She checks the time above his oven - 10:54.

His sink is clean and free of dishes, and Rey feels a stab of jealousy. Her sink is nearly always overflowing with dirtied plates and cutlery, and she has to force herself to do them every four days or so. The food she manages to find in his fridge and around the pantries is all healthy, organic, Whole Foods bullshit, just like she predicted. He has a tub of protein powder, energy bars, some kind of blender situation that looks more like something out of _Star Trek_ than it has any right to, a marble mortar and pestle, an espresso machine, and a whole god damn row of mason jars full of different kinds of dried pasta and rice.

_Unbearably_ bougie. Rey still eats boxed mac and cheese and the cheapest ramen she can find. _So this,_ she thinks, _is how the other half lives._ How extremely on brand of him.

All of the food looks kind of - sad to her, eaten for utility rather than for pleasure. She scrambles two eggs in the cast iron skillet she finds in one of the cabinets and steals one of the Greek yogurts he has stacked in a pile inside his refrigerator door. She thinks, before she can stop herself, that she could get used to this. She starts to plan, vaguely, how she would fill the pantry up with actual human food, maybe even get him to try the miracle that is a Pop-Tart. She’s already mentally rearranging the space on his countertop to make room for her terrible coffeepot when she shakes herself out of the fantasy.

”That was weird,” she says out loud. The apartment doesn’t reply.

She’s just sitting down at the counter to eat when she sees Ben walk through the door, her fork halfway inside her mouth.

”What’s up,” she mumbles around it.

”You made me four minutes late,” he says, seeming a little like he is trying to sound angrier about it than he can really manage. He drops his briefcase on the couch, lets his suit jacket fall off his shoulders. God - _his shoulders_. “Dameron asked me who I was fucking.”

Rey watches, nearly slack-jawed, and says, “I didn’t make you anything. I was asleep.”

Ben chuckles, rueful. “You were wrapped around me like a vine,” he says, rolling up his sleeves, loosening his tie. “How was I supposed to get up?”

She eats a bit of yogurt, licking the curved side of her spoon clean, and Ben’s eyes darken. Leave it to him to turn her breakfast into something sexual - alright, maybe she’s doing it on purpose a bit. “Have more willpower,” she says.

”I’m using up my supply as it is.”

He takes the spoon out of her hand, stabs into the cup, and takes a bite, making a face of disgust as he does. "Do you not like this flavor?" she asks.

"No," he mutters, "I don't particularly like yogurt."

Rey stares at him. "What? Then why do you have it in your house?"

Ben just looks back at her, his brow furrowed. "It's good for you," he says, as if that is the only explanation needed.

Rey rolls her eyes, laughing. "You know, you're allowed to be a little bit human on occasion," she says. "You can eat stuff that's bad for you just because you like it. And you don't have to eat things you don't like just because they're healthy."

He shrugs, letting her take the spoon back from his hand. "That is certainly the prevailing theory."

Rey keeps eating while Ben hovers, occasionally stealing a bite as he waits for her to finish. There's a lump in her throat that keeps growing and growing until she can't ignore it anymore.

”I have a confession," she bursts out. Ben stops, his hand stilling as he lifts a forkful of eggs to his mouth. "Don't be angry.”

”I won't be angry," he says, and, strangely, she believes him. "What is it?”

”You left your pills out. I didn't mean to read the label." The words are a rush, jumbling together, and she goes on, attempting some levity when she jokes, "I just have this thing ever since I was a child, when words show up I just read them, automatically." Ben just continues to look at her, eyebrows knit together, and Rey winces. "I’m really, really sorry. I know that’s your private medical information and I feel just awful about it and -“

”Sweetheart," he interrupts finally, and Rey snaps her mouth shut. Ben grins at her, reassuring, and she relaxes, her grip on the edge of the counter loosening. "Don’t feel bad. It’s not a big deal. I’m not trying to keep it a secret or anything.”

Rey considers him. He doesn't look like he feels very betrayed. He doesn't really seem anything but bemused at her anxiety over something so minor. ”So, what," she says, "you have ADHD?”

”Yeah," he says, "you pretty much hit the nail on the head."

Rey blinks at him. ”But you’re - you're so -"

"Impressive?"

"Put together," she finishes. "You never let your mind wander, you’re always so focused. I feel like I get distracted more often than you do."

”Because I take medication," he says gently, his smile now a little rueful. "And overcompensate. It was harder when I was younger.”

She blinks again. ”Oh.”

”Yeah.”

”I didn’t expect that," she says slowly, thinking it through. He seems so - organized and meticulous. Everything just so. He must work so hard all the time, she thinks suddenly, and the idea of it makes her oddly sad. "I guess it makes sense. You can be - impulsive.”

Ben huffs out a laugh. ”No one has ever accused me of that before.”

”I feel really bad," Rey says again. "I know this isn’t something you were planning on sharing -“

”No, no," he says, his voice forceful, sure. "I want - I want you to know.”

She imagines, for a moment, that he left off the end of his sentence. _I want you to know about me._ ”Yeah?”

”It’s why I got expelled," he says, just slightly too loud for the space. He lowers his voice, clears his throat. "I was selling them - forty dollars a pill. When I was fifteen.”

Rey looks at him evenly. ”That’s a racket," she says.

”My mom and dad were too - busy to pay attention to whether or not I was taking them, and it was..._easy_. Easy money. Easy way to get people to like me. Just - easy." It could almost break her heart, the look in his eyes, his voice hollow, bare. She thinks of him practicing the piano each night, his fingers flying over the keys for the benefit of an empty room. "I’d already been getting into too much trouble with fights, so it was the last straw. They kicked me out.”

Rey thinks for a moment, confused. "The article didn't say why -"

Ben chuckles, the sound a puff of air. "That's not public information. The only people that know exactly why I was expelled were the headmaster and my family. Anything they wrote would've been rumors. They were probably trying to cover themselves from a lawsuit."

Rey looks at him, though he doesn't meet her eyes. There is a stray lock of hair that falls across his forehead, and she reaches out, brushes it back. He catches her hand before she can retract it and just - holds it there. Holds her there.

”It was halfway through the semester," he murmurs. "My parents shipped me off to England to stay with my Uncle Luke for the rest of the term. By the time I got back, my mom had found another boarding school further upstate.”

She asks, "First Order?”

He nods, glancing up at her finally, his lips twisting, jaw clenched. "So you just think I’m a monster now, right," he says, the sentence wavering. "A drug dealer."

”Ben," she says, a trace of a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "I have lived with people who have real drug dealers. Trust me, what you did barely qualifies as illegal.”

He cracks a smile, but it looks slightly strained. She gets the sudden sense that he doesn't talk about this often, if he mentions it at all. That he is showing her his cards - folding. His next few words confirm it.

“I think you're the first person I've ever told about that." He squeezes her hand in his and turns his head, kissing the heel of her palm. Rey feels something tug in her ribcage, insistent, like someone is pulling on her heart from inside her chest.

"You can go ahead and destroy me with it now, if you want," he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [u know what's really romantic? a man playing piano for you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2-1u8xvk54)


	23. it is, in fact, unknowable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the author continues to reference a bunch of things and write run-on sentences
> 
> i have updated my chapter projection as seen above since we are now entering THE THIRD AND FINAL ACT  
it may either be a few chapters longer or shorter, but unlike a majority of this fic where i was kinda just winging it, there are some pretty clear plot points that will be making themselves known VERY SOON! exciting!

_ I am going to be the sexiest woman to ever exude fiscal prudence. And you know what? That’s a very fucking tough look to pull off.  _

** 23\. it is, in fact, unknowable**

Rey waits for him to ask her to leave.

She waits for it all day, in fact: after she’s dressed, when Ben makes curried chicken and rice over the stove for lunch, Rey painstakingly slicing up sections of a nectarine to garnish the plates (he has to correct the way she holds the knife more than once, and she feels embarrassed, says, _I didn’t know there was a wrong way to cut food,_ and he tells her, teasing, _There’s a wrong way to do everything, you just have a unique talent for finding it_); when she digs through the row of DVDs he keeps under the television stand, trying to find something even remotely watchable (all the while bemoaning the options, The Thin Red Line_?_ Goodfellas_?_ Pulp Fiction_? God, do you ever watch anything _fun_?_); when she finally finds something to watch that doesn’t make her want to blow her brains out and fiddles with the DVD player that he insists needs to be thrown away and replaced until it finally accepts one of the discs, and Ben looks at her like she just raised the dead or something similarly impossible (he mutters, half-annoyed, _That thing hates me,_ and she laughs and says, _You just need to give it a name, and it’ll love you forever_); when they’re watching the movie, something with Adam Sandler being serious but still crazy and angry, losing his shit every twenty minutes or so (Punch-Drunk Love, he tells her, _is one of his only acceptable movies_). Throughout all of that, he doesn’t kick her out.

Rey keeps waiting for him to tell her to leave and go home, and Ben keeps - not saying it. He rinses off the dishes in the sink while she fusses over his record player, runs the dishwasher to the sound of her half-dancing, half-screaming to Psycho Killer, and interrupts only to ask her to start cutting up fresh garlic because he is going to make steak and mushrooms. And she does, gently rocking the knife back and forth on the marble cutting board the way he showed her to. When she successfully dices the clove without cutting off any appendages, she calls it a win and demands a high-five, which he gives her, albeit reluctantly.

They eat dinner together at the dining room table, Rey sitting at the head while Ben takes the seat closest to her on the other side, and he still doesn’t ask her to leave. She tells him about the first time she ever ate filet mignon, at an event in grad school, how she had hated the foie gras and loved the escargot and had never eaten anything so ridiculously rich since. He doesn’t tell her, _Rey, you are overstaying your welcome and invading my free time and you need to get out. _Instead, he says that there is a French restaurant just ten minutes from his apartment that even he enjoyed and he will have to take her there when - And then he pivots completely in a different direction and asks, as if he’s just thought of it, why she scoffed so loudly when he suggested they watch _Being John Malkovich_.

Rey snorts, skewering a piece of her steak and popping it into her mouth. “Because it’s super stupid.”

”Or it’s because you’re afraid of surrealism,” he counters.

“_Or_ I am just aware of how utterly, unacceptably boring all Charlie Kaufman movies are.” Rey silently curses how good the food is. For someone who appears to hate having any basic physical needs, Ben is outrageously skilled in the kitchen. Rey has no clue how to cook; she never had a family to demonstrate. “It’s a film completely devoid of any kind of humor,” she says.

“It’s intentionally bizarre.”

“That’s just code for pretentious and joyless. I like things that are actually funny.”

He comments, almost off-handed, “If you want to watch something like that, I think I have _Ghostbusters_ around here somewhere.”

Rey hedges her bets, since most men freak the fuck out when she reveals this particular piece of information. She figures, fuck it. “I’ve never seen _Ghostbusters_.”

“Oh,” he says, his face lighting up in excitement, “well, then we’re definitely watching that.”

She lays her legs across his lap while they watch the movie from the couch, making idle comments throughout: _Sigourney Weaver is so much more noticeably attractive than Bill Murray that it borders on ludicrous; wait did that ghost just give that guy a blow job; if I were a ghost I would definitely not still be giving blow jobs, that just feels like a waste of your afterlife, to still be so obsessed with the desires of men; that marshmallow creature reminds me, I need to buy some hot chocolate_. Ben keeps a hand loosely curled around her calf, his thumb stroking the hollow under the jut of her ankle bone.

He laughs a lot during the movie, and says at one point, “My dad and I used to watch this sometimes when my mom was out of town. He always told me not to tell her.”

Rey sits up, leans against the back of the sofa. His eyes are still trained on the screen, and she’s glad for that. It leaves her free to run her eyes over him unselfconsciously, roam across his features, try to map out the terrain. She likes being able to look at him when he's focused on something else - like he's hers, for the moment, to peruse. “Why weren’t you allowed to tell her?” she asks.

“Because she thought I wasn’t old enough for the jokes.” He lifts his shoulders, smiling slightly. “Which I probably wasn’t. My dad showed me a lot of shit he probably shouldn’t have, come to think of it.”

“I saw _Poltergeist_ when I was seven,” she recalls. “One of my foster brothers played it for all the kids. I had nightmares for months.”

His mouth slants up. “For me, it was _The Exorcist_. When the girl was stabbing herself with the cross -"

“Oh my god, yes, or when she was crawling backwards -"

“Fucking terrifying,” he laughs. “I couldn’t watch it again until I was in my mid-twenties. I still don’t like it. Every time I go to Georgetown and have to pass those stairs, I have flashbacks to when I was nine and lying to the nanny about why I couldn't sleep.”

“But you like other horror.” She gestures to his bookshelf. “_The Shining_?"

"A classic."

"Of course." Rey grins, adjusting her position to look at him more easily. "Pop quiz: book or movie?”

He levels a half-hearted glare at her. “Book, obviously.”

“Yes,” she says, “_yes_. Thank you.”

When the movie ends, it’s later than Rey expected it to be. She stands, stretches out her arms and opens her mouth, about to say something like, _thanks for the food and the sex, good buddy_, when Ben beats her to the punch.

“It’s late." Rey feels his hand tugging on the hem of her sweater, his fingers slipping under to rub against her skin. She turns around to where he’s still sitting down, gazing up at her. He says, “You should stay here.”

“Oh, really?” she replies, as casually as she can muster. “You think I should?”

He shrugs, seeming faintly like he’s attempting to be casual. “Don’t want you to fall asleep at the wheel.”

“So this is more out of concern for my safety, then.”

The line of his mouth is soft when he says, “What else would it be?”

It’s her turn to shrug. “I guess I could,” she says coolly. “If you really want me to.”

Ben gets to his feet then, his hand remaining hooked on the hem of her sweater. The room is dark and, with the movie over, the only source of illumination comes from the moonlight streaming through the window. A waning gibbous. Rey thinks of sitting under the dim, flickering lights of too many different primary schools, different teachers droning on about the phases of the moon: waxing, waning, crescent, new.

His head is tilted down, his nose brushing her temple when he speaks. It’s practically a whisper, the words a low rasp, yet they still sound so loud in the quiet of the room. “I really do.”

Rey shivers, and it is - he is - _they_ are -

She won’t name it. She can’t.

She kisses him, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck. She presses against him hard, molds herself to his body like she needs to in order to feel him - all of him. Her eyes are closed because she can’t open them, can't look, can’t let herself think about any of it because if she does - if she does she will -

Ben lifts her up unexpectedly, and she yelps, his mouth swallowing the sound. He carries her across the room, stumbles through his bedroom door, lays her across the mattress.

She keeps an arm flung over her face when he crawls up her body to take off her sweater, roll her jeans slowly off her legs. When he pushes her thighs open, when he lowers his mouth to her cunt and licks. Because she can’t look at him, can’t do anything but lift her hips for him, open herself up for him, let herself be spread across his tongue, for him. He braces his forearm over her abdomen and works her until she's a mess, until she's writhing around shamelessly, moaning with frustration and lust and need and want and everything. Everything. When she comes, the cry she lets out sounds cracked, broken. Her fingers twist in his hair, her body tenses, and he kisses the inside of her thigh before wiping his mouth off with the palm of his hand.

She feels unraveled, undone, a bundle of nerve endings and skin when Ben slides through her like a hot knife through warm butter, like he is cutting her in two. She hides her face in his shoulder when he thrusts into her, groaning about how much he wants this, how much he always wants it, how much he wants her, how much he _wants_ her -

Rey doesn’t think much about her body, when she thinks about it. It’s strong, can open jars and use a hammer or a wrench when something needs to be fixed around her apartment - she doesn’t need a man to do anything for her. It’s softly angular, sharp shoulders and wide hips, small breasts and long, muscled legs. It carries her around, mostly, keeps her organs and blood safe. It’s useful - no more and no less. 

Only: when Ben pulls her up to sit on his cock, tugging her flush against him, her knees bracketing his thighs, when the words pour out of him, uncontrolled, about all the places he imagines touching her, how much he likes the feeling of her wrapped around him, how soft and warm and wet and _good_ she is, how perfect her body is, like it was made for him, it makes something inside her break. He looks up at her, holds her head back by the nape of her neck, gently, so she can look at him too, and he tells her, voice hoarse, “You are so fucking beautiful.”

There must be something that shows in her face - that she's never heard anything even close to that before, at least not with that level of vicious certainty, that she can feel a warmth that has nothing to do with the way he's fucking her reaching through her limbs, spreading through her whole body, that she is completely and consumingly _terrified_ of the feeling of it all - because he moves his hand to her face, tracing his thumb along the bow of her lips. He kisses the spot that he touched, and murmurs the word into her skin again. _Beautiful_.

She bites down on the jut between his shoulder and his neck when she finishes again, muffling the sound of her whine, and then he’s groaning, panting, holding her upright when she can’t carry her own weight any longer, and emptying himself inside her.

His fingers tangle in her hair as he lays her back down on the bed, his mouth still open on her jaw. She can't catch all of the words he mumbles breathlessly into her skin, but she thinks she hears her name once or twice.

He’s still asleep when she wakes up, loose-limbed and pleasantly aching.

Rey gets dressed as quickly and quietly as she can, gathering up her things, and she feels almost strange about it, like she’s trying to sneak out after an ill-advised one night stand. But it’s only that - that she knows herself, knows her limits, and knows that if she lets herself stay for any longer than a quick goodbye she won’t be able to leave. And - and she _needs_ to be able to leave.

Rey is nothing if not practical: she always has an exit strategy.

She shakes Ben awake when she’s set to go, his eyes blinking blearily into focus.

”Hey,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

She smiles at that. She can’t help herself. “Hi,” she says quietly. “I’m gonna go home, okay?”

He furrows his brow, seeming to think very hard about this. She can't tell how much of it is from drowsiness and how much of it is what she says. “Oh,” he says eventually. “That’s - yeah, alright. You should probably - yeah.”

Rey makes to get up when he stops her, his hand gripping her wrist. “I -" he starts, and stops again. He seems, for a moment, to fight with himself about something before he finally settles on saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

His thumb strokes a mindless pattern on the heel of her palm; Rey leans in and kisses him. “Yeah," she says. "Tomorrow.”

On the drive home, she waits again. She waits some more, and keeps waiting, and doesn’t stop waiting for it: for the feeling to go away. For the hum in her chest, the heat and the warmth, to leave her. Because it’s new and terrible and she is not going to put words to it, she isn’t. She rejects the feeling; she simply will not have it. She is still, she reassures herself, the greatest avoider that every walked the earth.

And it won’t be a problem anyway, she figures. It will go away by itself, and she will be back to normal again.

Monday is horrible.

From the moment she sits down at her desk until the moment she leaves for the day, she is talking, and yelling, and arguing, and talking some more. The phone rings off the hook, and she forgets about two separate appointments that she has to pencil in for another time last minute, and, to top it all off, she gets yet another call from Hux, now asking about a rumor he’s heard from someone who knows someone who knows someone who attended a meeting on Saturday where something was stated about Ben Solo’s love life, and she, being his assistant, must know all about it, and how interesting that nothing’s been made public with the election right around the corner, almost like he has something to hide -

“Fuck off, Hux,” she finally interrupts. “You are a writer for The Washington Post, not Perez Hilton, and you are better than this.”

”Ms. Jackson, I am better than nothing if it means upping my readership by several hundred thousand people.” God, she can practically hear the sneer on his stupid pinched face. What a waste of otherwise objectively nice features. “All I want to know is - is he gay? I don’t mean to offend, but even_ you_ must be able to see that for most of this inbred, backwater, hillbilly country, something like that would directly influence their vote. Plus, I win a bet if he is.”

Rey is going to kill him; she will go to prison for his murder. “Well, Armitage," she says, deadly calm, "I don’t mean to offend, but I hope you’re the accidental victim of a very incompetent home invader, and your dog eats your face off, and nobody finds you for six months, and they have to identify your sad, bloated corpse using dental records.” She pauses to delete a sentence she was typing. “That comment was off the record, by the way.”

He’s blissfully quiet for a moment. “I have a cat actually,” he says.

“Even better,” she snaps, and hangs up before he can get a word in edgewise.

By the time she is getting ready to leave for the day, clocking out late once again, she feels ready to assault the next person who asks her for anything, which, of course, is right when Poe approaches her desk - yet again - about setting up a dinner meeting with Zorii Bliss for him first thing tomorrow morning. 

“I am not your assistant, and if you say one more word I am going to _destroy_ you in real life,” she hisses, looking up from her computer on the last word to find that it isn’t Poe at all. She gapes at Ben while he grins widely, the picture of delight. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I thought you were Poe.”

Ben waves his hand in dismissal, his body shaking with silent laughter.

“It’s not funny,” she protests, but her lips curl into a smile anyway. “He has already asked me about scheduling a meeting with her twice today.”

“I can understand the mistake,” he says, still smiling. “Amilyn forbade him from going, just so you know, since it was clearly a pretense to sleep with Zorii again.”

Rey snorts. “_Again_?”

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

She takes a breath, letting herself smile a bit wider. “I won’t tell a soul.”

Ben tilts his head, considering her: the bird’s nest she could once have called a hairstyle, the terribly disorganized state of her desk, what she’s sure is an extremely frazzled look in her eyes. “Rough day?”

“The worst,” she moans, dropping her head onto her desk. She says, the sentence enveloped by the wood, “I just want to sleep for a thousand years.”

She hears him huff out a laugh at that. “Princess,” he says, the word dripping with sarcasm.

Rey sits back up, cracks her neck. She smiling teasingly at him. “Between the two of us, you’re the royal one, Ben,” she says loftily, standing up. “I have exactly zero legacy and am from exactly nowhere. Just a poor little nobody.”

She's slipping her coat on over her shoulders, when she runs directly into Ben where he's blocking her way. When she meets his eyes, he is just - looking at her. The sight of it makes something tighten suddenly in her chest.

”No,” he murmurs, "you're not."

His fingers lift to her face, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, trailing along her cheek.

Rey feels caught as surely as a bear in a trap, as a fish in a net, as a deer in the headlights, and she almost forgets where they are entirely and leans into him when Ben abruptly freezes.

He steps back from her, his hand retreating to his side, and his eyes dart away, like he is trying to look anywhere else in the room. "Have a good night," he says, and turns on his heel to walk down the hall, leaving her stunned in his wake. Rey feels a seed of dread bloom in the pit of her stomach, and she glances around slowly, wincing.

But, when she looks, she can't see anybody else there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't u just hate cliffhangers
> 
> [just another life to live and a word to say; just another love to give and a diamond day](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ruztCDwPs7c)


	24. i feel like i’m on a life support machine and they keep pulling the plug to charge their phones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'( im sorry 4 this pls donut hate me

_ You're naive. Welcome to politics. _

** 24\. i feel like i’m on a life support machine and they keep pulling the plug to charge their phones**

On Tuesday, Ben doesn’t get into his office until the middle of the morning.

Rey knows he is at work. His car is in the lot, and he would have mentioned a meeting on the Hill or any other last-minute scheduling changes to her already. So it’s - mildly concerning.

But only mildly, because she doesn’t have the time or the mental energy to be any more worried than that and also do her job.

He finally passes her desk at nearly 9:30, and the only reason that Rey notices him at all, drowning in work as she is, is because he murmurs as he walks by, “Push everything back by twenty minutes.”

Rey looks up at the sound of his voice, but she only sees the back of his head as he steps into his office and closes the door with a click.

Her breath hitches in her throat for the briefest moment, and then the phone rings, shrill and jarring. She reaches out instinctively and answers the call with, “Ben Solo’s office.”

She and Finn go out for lunch because, he explains, it’s been so long since they’ve talked he has almost forgotten the sound of her voice. He drags her to some burger place he’s been asking her to try, citing his need to eat meat again for a change.

There was a cold snap overnight, and Rey shivers as they wait in the queue to order. She should have worn a heavier jacket, she knows, or checked the weather before leaving for work. Earlier, she heard Kaydel mention it's only going to get colder for the next few weeks, and the idea of it is a little bit sad to Rey in a way she can’t quite articulate. It was always cold in Jakku, cold and damp and awful. The first summer she spent in D.C. was the reason why she fell in love with the city, the sight of the pink blossoms fluttering from the trees like fat drops of rain enough to make her want to cry with joy. The cold weather reminds her too much of home.

“Rose,” Finn is telling her, “is thinking of becoming a _vegetarian_.”

He says the word like it has four letters, and Rey snorts. “God forbid.”

“I understand why she wants to do it,” he goes on as they take their drinks and sandwiches to a booth. The table is dirty, soda and crumbs spilled all over it. Rey reaches across, ready to clean up the mess with her napkin when Finn stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “Rey,” he says, shaking his head slightly, “that’s not your job.”

As if on cue, one of the workers rushes to the table, wipes it down with a wet rag, and hurries away again. Rey murmurs a soft thanks to him as he goes, and settles into one side of the booth, shrugging her shoulders. “People shouldn’t leave such a mess,” she says, unwrapping her sandwich, quick and greedy. “I’m just trying to help.”

Finn raises his eyebrows. “Rey, it takes them like two seconds to wipe down a table. I was a waiter before, remember? Trust me, it can mean more work when people fall all over themselves trying to help out.”

Rey shrugs noncommittally. “You’re probably right,” she says vaguely. “So Rose is becoming a vegetarian? Just going straight for it.”

“Oh yeah.” Finn fake shudders, and Rey grins easily. “She’s been reading a lot of articles about the ethical quagmire that is factory farming, which, naturally, means I have been made to subsist on tofu and seitan at home. It has been...mentally, physically, and, worst of all, emotionally devastating.”

Rey chuckles at Finn’s anguished expression, the height of melodrama. “I had to cut out meat during most of grad school,” Rey says, smirking at the way Finn drops his chin on his hand, sighing deeply. “Just for monetary purposes, but I can send you both some actual good and filling vegetarian recipes if you’re interested. Also, you need to be taking vitamins, you know that right?”

“Yes,” he moans, “_please_ send some recipes. You know, if I hear one more quote from FreeFromHarm-dot-org, I might start taking hostages.”

Rey grins, taking a bite out of her burger. “Kind of defeats the point of keeping things free from harm, then.”

“I get where she’s coming from, I do. But - I can’t afford to buy ethically farmed meat, and I definitely can’t maintain a vegetarian lifestyle. I’m so hungry all the time.” He groans, dropping his head onto the table. “I love Rose, but sometimes when she finds a cause like that - you know. She just doesn’t stop.”

Rey smiles. “Yeah, I’ve seen that before.”

“Oh, right,” Finn says, “look who I’m talking to. You know, Rose keeps saying you’re going to, like, get married within the year.” He lets out one single bark of laughter, incredulous. “You’re not even dating anyone! She’s just totally convinced you’re going to meet someone and fall madly in love and get married, literally by this time next year. I have no idea who she thinks the groom is gonna be. President Snoke?”

“Poe Dameron,” she suggests, cocking her head.

“Ben Solo?”

Rey forces a laugh, ignoring the sudden rush of nervousness that drops like lead in her stomach. “How about Senator Ackbar?”

Finn grins wider. “Or Armitage Hux?”

“Oh god.” Rey closes her eyes and shakes her head, as if she can physically reject the concept. “Don’t even joke about that. That guy sucks.”

“Or maybe you’re just afraid of the strength of your feelings for him,” he counters.

She actually laughs at that, nearly choking on her mouthful of chips in the process. “I am searching those feelings, and it’s mostly a whole lot of hatred.”

“Well,” Finn muses, “barring you getting knocked up by some random stranger and having a shotgun wedding, I think it’s safe to say I am going to get my twenty dollars. And the affair will be with...Emmy-winning actor Alan Alda?”

“Or Grammy-winning rapper Marshall Mathers,” she says, nodding gravely.

“Former President Palpatine.”

“Ugh, gross,” Rey mumbles around her burger. "When is that guy gonna die?”

“Never,” Finn replies, his tone deadly serious. “He’s never gonna die.” 

It happens at the end of the day, and all Rey can think is that she should have seen it coming.

Because something has been off, from the minute he left the building yesterday. Because she can _always_ tell when someone is about to disappoint her, has since she was a child. She has a sixth sense for it; it must be a genetic thing, the one trait she inherited from her parents. It feels a bit like smoke in her lungs, bitter and acrid. Or like a clamp locked around her insides, its screw twisting tighter and tighter, digging in.

Either way. It doesn’t really matter.

He calls her into his office before she leaves for the day. The moment she steps inside, Ben muttering, “Close the door,” she knows. She knows before he even says it.

Rey doesn’t sit down, and he doesn’t ask her to. He's leaning back against his desk, every line in his body rigid and tense, his knuckles white gripping the edge. Like there’s nothing more he wants than to bolt.

And - the way he’s standing makes her think, terribly, of another time she walked into his office. She remembers going in months ago, anxious for a different reason entirely, while he waited with a convenient excuse in his hand. He doesn’t have any kind of excuse now; it’s just him, his jaw set.

Rey stands apart from him, separate, and waits for him to talk.

The first words out of his mouth actually manage to surprise her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you ran into Amilyn?” His voice is rough, rife with anger, but she can hear something else underneath it, something he can’t quite shut out entirely. He told her this once, his fingers threading through her hair, murmuring gently into the crown of her head, that anger is one of the only palatable emotions in his family, that the only way they communicate is through restructuring every shame or fear or guilt or sorrow into a single-minded fury. For better or worse, he can never quite manage that as well as he wants. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rey can only look at him, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Saw Amilyn? What on earth are you talking abou-” She realizes just a moment too late. “Oh,” she says mildly. Oh. _Shit_.

“She knows,” he says, only now it’s an unnecessary revelation. Rey - doesn’t know if she can breathe. “Yesterday, before I left, she saw us.”

She’s already shaking her head, even before the sentence ends. “But - but, no, there was no one else there.”

“Yes,” Ben says lowly, “there was. And -”

“And that’s why you weren’t in this morning,” she says, recognition dawning on her as she speaks. Or, more accurately, barreling into her like a semi-truck sliding through a patch of ice. She remembers the way he froze, the way he looked away from her, his voice overloud when he told her good night. She shifts on her feet, her hands closing into fists at her sides. He let her go all day, she realizes, and the knowledge of it is horrible. He let her go all day imagining everything was fine. “You were talking to her.”

“Yes,” he admits, the word clipped and dark. “And she tore me to fucking pieces, I might add, and if you had fucking told me you saw her, I could have -”

“You could have what?” Rey interrupts. She can feel her face getting hot, can feel her body trying to double itself in size, match his anger with her own. Anything he throws at her, she can throw right back, with equal force. “Told her you were checking me for ticks yesterday? She’s not an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I could have. Maybe.” Ben drags his hand down his face, his chest heaving as he takes rattling breaths through his teeth. “I would have at least had a little bit of warning before she yelled at me for having unprotected sex with my assistant.”

Rey winces, blinking hard like she just dropped a ceramic plate, like she’s waiting for it to shatter to pieces on the floor. “Jesus Christ, Ben.”

“It was bad, Rey. It was a very bad conversation.”

“Well. What -” She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. _Feel alone_, she thinks. Feel alone. “What do you want to do?”

He laughs, mirthless and bleak. “Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s really a matter of want. Amilyn sa-” His voice strangles for a moment, then cuts out entirely. He clears his throat, flinching minutely. “My options are - limited.”

Rey’s voice is ice. Hard and cold and unforgiving. “What do you mean?”

Ben sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t quit, not this late in the game.” He speaks like he’s working from a script, his tone flat and disaffected. She wonders how much he came up with himself and how much is a direct quotation. “I can’t bow out of photo ops. And I can’t - _we_ can’t get caught. Hux has been asking around, and he’s not the only one. If they smell blood in the water -” Ben pauses, eyeing her warily, like she’s his opponent. Like they’ve been fighting a difficult and bloody battle, only he’s just now realizing she’s been playing with one arm tied behind her back. “There can’t be even a suspicion that we’ve been -”

“Fucking,” she says, blunt, the word a bludgeon.

He swallows hard, nods, his line of sight dropping to the chair between them like it’s the most fascinating object in the world. Rey feels herself freezing over, and it’s a familiar thing to her. Almost comforting. It’s not, she reasons, like she’s never been here before.

Even if it feels different from the other times. For some reason.

Rey straightens her back, squaring her shoulders. “What happens then?”

“You’ve seen the polls,” he mutters. “You know we can't afford the hit we’ll take in our strongest demographics if it’s published that Leia Organa’s son - that I - took advantage -”

“But you didn’t,” she says. It is, strangely, very important to her that he acknowledge this, that he knows this. “You didn't.”

“I had sex with an inferior,” Ben says, his voice too loud for the size of the room. It's like a kick in the teeth. She can feel her face fall, and Ben - doesn't even notice. He still refuses to look at her. “I told Amilyn she can count on your - _discretion_, but I am older than you, and I make more money than you, and I have more status than you, and I am more famous than you, and you are my employee. You could very easily make a case for...manipulation. Too easily.”

She blinks, the corners of her eyes stinging. Ridiculous, she thinks, blinking fast. _Don’t be so ridiculous_. “But that isn’t what happened -”

“Rey, don’t be so fucking naive,” he cuts in harshly, and she jumps, taking a step back. Ben settles again almost instantly, rubbing the hollow of his eye with the heel of his palm, a hard press. She can almost feel the pressure in her own eye. “It doesn’t matter what happened. Even if you weren’t my assistant anymore, all anyone would care about is how it started, which looks pretty fucking bad. You know how this plays." She does know how it plays: her face plastered all over the internet, headlines highlighting how poor and woeful her life is, playing up how innocent and young and oh so easily coerced she must have been, infantilizing her. And the headlines for Ben - she doesn't even want to think about those. "You know what happens if this - any of this - comes out.”

Rey nods, grinding her teeth together so hard it feels like they'll break. “So, you want to stop.”

She knows exactly what he will say the minute the words leave her mouth, and the fact of it clutches around her insides, squeezes like a snake suffocating a rat in its grip.

Ben meets her gaze finally, and that's the moment when she knows it with unassailable certainty. Rey almost opens her mouth and tells him not to bother saying it aloud: she already knows this part by heart.

He beats her to it.

“I don’t -” He hesitates, and then forges ahead. “I don’t think we should keep -”

Rey doesn’t let him finish. She tightens her jaw. “Yeah, okay,” she says. “Sure.”

He stares at her for a moment, his expression something she can’t quite place. She hopes it isn’t pity. Pity would be the worst thing, she thinks. “Rey, are you alright?”

She laughs, humorless and a little manic. She wants to yell, wants to break something. She shoves it back down her throat, swallows it like a bitter pill: without looking at it too closely. “Ben, you - As if I am -" She halts, taking a breath, and then looks up again, narrowing her eyes. "We’ve only been fucking for two months, I’m not going to rend my garments and gnash my teeth because you want to -” She won’t say _break up_, that would imply a relationship, and she would have to be even dumber than she's already been to think that, and she has been so very _stupid_, “end things. I may be your _inferior_, but I’m not some lovesick child.”

Ben sighs heavily. She watches as he closes his hands into fists, flexes them open again. “Rey,” he says, voice low and brimming with some emotion she can’t identify, “you know I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just a word.”

“You chose to say it though,” she shoots back. Her nails dig into the fleshy part of her palms, and the pain is good, she thinks. It gives her something to focus on. “I’m fine." She makes herself shrug, perfectly casual. Unaffected. "Shit happens. It’s not like we thought this would go on forever, so. You're right to call it.”

“That’s it, then?” Rey glances up, and Ben is just looking at her. There’s that veil over him now, she recognizes at once, the screen he sometimes lets fall over his eyes. So he can hide himself. “That’s all you have to say?”

He's fishing, clearly, for a reaction. She won't give him the satisfaction of having one. She says, the word slow and clear, “Yes.”

He braces a hand on one hip, a muscle in his jaw tensing. “Fine,” he says. Ben walks behind his desk and sits down, his eyes darting away from her to stare blankly at the wall. “I took the liberty of asking a few contacts if they might need a junior strategist or data analyst," he tells her, "so if you want me to write a recommend-”

“Why would you need to write me a recommendation?” Rey walks closer to him, sudden panic clawing its way out of her throat. “Are you firing me?”

“What? No,” he says, fast and insistent. His body jolts, for a moment, like he might get up and cross the room to her. Rey watches his expression flicker, and he relaxes again, clearing his throat. “No, of course not. I just - I would understand if you needed to work somewhere else.”

“Why would I need to work somewhere else?” Rey deliberately ignores the obvious reason why, because she is fine, and this is fine, and it's not like she thought it would go on forever anyway. She is an adult and a professional, so. So yeah.

His lips churn. “Fine,” he says, his voice hard. “Fine.”

“Good.” Rey nods her head, and then she doesn’t stop nodding. She doesn’t know if she can stop, but eventually she forces herself to. Her neck aches, her whole body aches, and she is suddenly so weary. Exhausted. She thinks she could sleep through tomorrow, next week, the rest of the year. “Then everything is settled.”

“Yes,” he says quietly, “it is.”

Rey nods again, uncurling her fingers. Her hand hurts; when she looks down, she can see there are crescent-shaped marks where her nails dug into her skin. She walks to the door to leave, and she is just touching the knob when she turns back.

Ben sits up slightly as she stares at him, and she could almost convince herself that he looks - relieved.

Rey says, steely, “I called Zorii’s office.” Ben’s eyes flicker, just for a second, and then the mask is back, his expression blank. “I have your dinner penciled in for 7:30 on Thursday. It’s already in your calendar.”

She turns the handle with a vicious twist, her mouth set in a thin line.

“Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” she says, sardonic, her voice acid, and she adds, just on the wrong side of too spiteful, too _feeling_, “sir.”

She closes the door before she can hear his reply. She doesn't really want to know.

Rey leaves. She walks slowly to her car, keys jingling in her hand. Every step feels, oddly enough, like it takes an immense amount of strength, like she is actually knee deep in quicksand, sinking fast. She tugs her phone out of her coat pocket to check the time and, before she can blink, it slips. Clatters hard on the pavement, bounces once, and then twice, and then stops just under the wheel of a car.

Rey freezes, staring at it. She crouches on the ground behind the bumper to tug it away from the tire, wincing. When she turns it over, screen side up, she can see that it’s broken, a spiderweb-like series of cracks running from the home button all the way up to the camera at the top.

“Shit,” she hisses, frantically running her fingers over the screen, as if she might be able to put it back together if only she can press hard enough, “fuck, shit, fucking shit, motherfuck- _ow_.”

Rey pulls her hand away and looks at her thumb, where a raised shard of glass has sliced the flesh open. The cut is deep; blood wells up fresh and new every time she sucks it away. And it -

It fucking _hurts_.

“Ow,” she says again, but this time the word is watery and thick. How strange, she thinks distantly. “Fuck, _ow_.”

Rey stares at the cut while she kneels in the middle of the parking lot, the gravel rough and digging into the sharp points of her knees. She stands up eventually, taking a shuddering breath. She sways on her feet for a moment, eyes fluttering shut, and then, all at once, bursts into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i know that i ended it but why won't you chase after me?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nK84dWFj8Lw)


	25. he's only winning because he gets to be the easier person and i have to be me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter...did not end up the way i expected it to

_ I'd like to be cryogenically suspended._

Yeah, and then be woken up in the future?

_ No, never wake up. Just - stay suspended. _

** 25\. he’s only winning because he gets to be the easier person and i have to be me **

Rey didn’t used to mind driving to work.

Her car is older than her, equipped with an AM/FM radio, heating that barely works, and not one single airbag. It runs on the strength of its own stubbornness and her ability to force any piece of technology to work in her favor through a combination of research, an instinctive understanding for mechanics, and sheer fucking force of will. Rose still refuses to let Rey give her a ride anywhere due to the lack of any kind of safety feature, and the guy checking her emissions at her most recent test rolled his eyes heavenward when she said she wasn’t planning on getting rid of it. Ruth is not an easy car to love, but Rey loves her anyway. She loves everything she takes care of. So even though her car may be difficult to drive and is sort of embarrassing to be connected to, it never really bothered her to take it anywhere, up to and including her place of work. Her morning commute is, at times, a high point of her day: she can’t use her phone to check her work email, since all of her cognitive functioning has to focus exclusively on keeping Ruth from breaking down into a car-shaped hunk of metal, and the route from her apartment to the offices is actually a fairly peaceful one.

But not anymore.

On Wednesday, she wakes up in the morning feeling like every organ in her chest has descended down to somewhere in the pit of her stomach. It doesn’t go away, even when she showers and brushes her teeth. It doesn’t go away when she climbs into her outfit for the day and does her hair (her hands tugging hard enough it hurts her scalp, trying to make sure none of it escapes the band) and carefully applies her makeup (if she spends a little more time making sure she looks perfect, so what? It’s not like she’s trying to impress anybody). It doesn’t go away in the car, the engine groaning underneath her feet, her hands at the proper ten and two on the wheel. It only gets worse the closer and closer she gets to the building, every cell in her body screaming at her to turn around and drive as far away as she can. When she finally pulls up to the lot, she considers, for one half-crazed moment, leaving everything behind and starting a whole new life in Baltimore.

She doesn’t, though. She parks in her usual spot and goes into the building, and she acts like that is all she ever wanted to do.

Finn tags along when Rey goes to get her phone fixed. It’s at the mall, at a kiosk Finn is certain is really a front for the Russian mob, and Rey has no idea if its the interminable wait on a bench for the screen to get fixed or the dizzyingly bright shine of the fluorescent lights or the scent of Auntie Anne's pretzels filling up all her breathing space, but she finds herself telling him everything. Every single thing that happened, from the second she left for the campaign trail until the second she broke her phone in the parking lot of the office.

At the end of it, out of breath and increasingly concerned that she might have a nervous collapse in front of Mikhail the mall-kiosk-phone-guy, Rey pauses, searching Finn's face to see if she can detect what his reaction might be.

"Wow," he says eventually. Rey winces, waiting, and then - "I can't believe Rose knew before I did," he continues. "I'm so offended."

That startles a grin out of her. "Finn."

"No, really, Rey, I'm genuinely offended." He shrugs. "I thought we were closer than that."

"If it helps, I wasn't planning on telling either of you."

"It does help, thank you." Finn looks over her face, eyes scanning across her features with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I am," she says. And she - is. Really. She is really super okay. "Things are a bit awkward now, but. It's not like I -" _thought we were going to do this forever,_ "thought we were going to - I don't know, get married or something like that."

"Ah, well at least _that_ makes sense now." Finn's thoughtful expression turns on a dime and shifts into one of horror. "Oh god, Rose thought you were going to get married to him? _Him_?"

Rey lets out a small puff of laughter, swiping at her cheeks, tugging on the stray hairs at her temples. "Apparently," she says.

"Rey. I know you are upset -"

"I'm not upset -" she protests half-heartedly.

"- but I think you dodged a bullet here." Finn scooches closer to her on the bench, his shoulders tilted toward her as he takes her hand. "Really. I mean, that guy? Sucks. He's psychotic. Like, diagnosable anti-social personality disorder level of insane."

Rey bites her lip, glancing away from his face to stare down at her hands. She thinks of laying her palm over Ben's, pressing down onto the keys of his piano, thinks of her fingers threading through his hair. "No, he's not," she mutters, just as foolish as ever. "You've never talked to him one-on-one. He's not really like that; I don't think he's ever really been like that."

Finn's voice is filled to the brim with skepticism, like she's a girl trying to convince everyone _no he's changed this time, he's totally different now!_ "Oh yeah? What's he _really_ like, then?"

Rey lifts her shoulders up, letting out a puff of air. She has no idea what happened that she is now in the uncomfortable position of having to defend the guy who just threw her away like yesterday’s trash, but she feels compelled to set the record straight. "I don't know,” she says. “He's - he's gentle. He understands me. And - and he's very..." She pauses, searching for the right word, something funny and still true that won’t make her seem hung up. She’s not hung up; she is maybe a little bit - disappointed. Or even sad - she could admit to being the tiniest bit sad. But not hung up. She's totally past it.

Rey considers the right word. She could say so much: _Sweet. Handsome. Good at sex. Smart. Funny. Lovely._

She settles on: "Tall."

When she looks up at Finn again, his face has changed, his mouth soft, eyes sympathetic.

"Ah, shit," he murmurs.

Rey twists her fingers in her hands, not replying.

“Is there -“ Finn pauses, seeming like he feels slightly useless. “Can I do anything to help?”

”I really don’t need help, but - please tell Rose not to ask me about it. Just let her know she can pay your twenty bucks now.” Rey rolls her shoulders back, standing up when Mikhail waves her over to test out the newly fixed phone screen. “Try not to rub it in her face,” she adds absently.

“Oh, Rey,” Finn says, grinning as he stands next to her at the counter, “I’m definitely going to rub it in her face.”

They pretend like nothing happened. Or, really: she pretends like nothing happened.

He tries the first day, when she walks into his office with his messages for the morning. Ben murmurs, "Wait," before she can walk away completely, and Rey stops, turns back to him with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe - maybe we should ta-"

”I have to get back to the phone,” Rey interrupts, all false sweetness, arsenic cut with syrup. "Let me know if you need something."

And that’s it. Every time they’re forced to interact, which is annoyingly and inflexibly often, Ben is unerringly polite, overly solicitous toward her. And Rey -

Rey hates it. She _hates_ him. She wants nothing more than to go back in time and stop herself from ever kissing him - or before that, and stop herself from ever agreeing to work with him - or even further back, and stop herself from ever moving to the same city as him. Anything to make herself go back to normal. Because every time he tells her _thank you_ or _please_ or carefully avoids touching her hand when passing her a piece of paper or holds the door open for her, it makes something flutter in her chest and then feel like someone has driven a steamroller over her heart in the same breath, and she is left wondering what is wrong with her all over again. Aside from the obvious: her inclination towards avoidance, her bad temper, a pathological inability to cook, her great and many abandonment issues, and the fact that she still doesn’t, quote unquote, 'get' _Westworld_.

Even if it seemed, for the briefest moment, like none of that mattered to Ben or, if it did, like he actually liked some of those things. Rey blames it on Rose forcing her to watch so many god damn romantic comedies - they have clearly given her unrealistic expectations. Not that she needs him to confess his love for her after running through an airport or a hurricane of some kind, because Rey doesn’t care about that. Because all relationships have an expiration date, and he probably did both of them a favor by cutting it short. So it’s fine. She is fine.

For the first week, she does her level best to ignore it all, the way the very ground under her feet feels like it's shifted entirely, like the tremors of an earthquake. She pretends like she doesn’t notice each and every time he nearly slips and calls her _sweetheart_; she feigns ignorance at the way his hands flinch away from hers when they almost touch, as if she has some contagious disease.

(She can’t help but feel a little offended at that. It’s not like she invented their thing out of thin air; he seemed to be an active and willing participant. Now, it’s like he hardly can stand to brush past her in the hallway. As if she is so grotesque.)

On the fourth day of polite distance, on a Saturday afternoon, both of them one of the last few people in the offices, they have another argument. And whatever kind of makeshift understanding they have to ignore each other's existence as much as possible shatters into pieces.

By the end of it, she can’t even really remember what it was about. She thinks it starts when Ben makes a cruel remark about all of their work - all of the phone calls and hours of labor and sincere efforts to do right - being a waste of god damn time, looking at the way Leia is polling less than two weeks out from the election.

He’s been doing that more and more often since - since the thing they don’t talk about, the multicolor dancing elephant sitting in the corner of the room. Making cruel remarks about their chances, about policies and talking points and various voter demographics. Rey doesn’t examine why too closely; she does her best to pay no attention to his aimless hostility. And it is truly aimless, his hostility, in a way that it never was before, even when she first started out with him. His rage used to have some measure of focus, whereas now it seems to extend its reach everywhere it can, inwards and outwards alike. The only direction it never seems to go in is hers; as much as he rails against every single thing he encounters, none of his mindless fury ever really extends to her.

With Rey, he seems placid, almost detached. Like she's not even worth the effort it would take to properly emote.

And Rey is - she is totally cool with it. She definitely does not spend half of her waking hours trying to figure out ways to get him to react to her. She doesn’t agonize over the way she looks in the morning, putting on her tightest skirts, leaving her legs bare and unbuttoning one more button than usual on her blouses. She definitely does not bend over his desk more often than necessary. It’s not like she’s trying to seduce him; she just wants him to eat his fucking heart out.

Besides, none of it works anyway. No matter how she looks or what she does, he responds to it with as much enthusiasm as an elderly, blind priest.

She thinks, in the end, what starts it is an off-handed comment about welfare programs. _Fuck food stamps_, he tells her, casually dismissive, _we’re not getting any more blood from that stone, and there’s no votes there, so we’re forgetting about them._

Rey has been hungry before - actually hungry, exhausted hungry, weak and sleepless and numb kind of hungry - and his attitude, so mercenary, pitiless, easy in its cruelty, makes something inside her twist like a knife between her ribs. 

She doesn’t even really know what she says in response to him. She can see his face when she speaks, her volume increasing steadily with every word until she is shouting, and -

And it is terrible, how palpable his excitement is over it, and how much he tries to keep it restrained. Like he has been suddenly presented with something he didn't even know he was craving, like he has been itching for a knock-down, drag-out fight, desperate for something to sink his teeth into and _rip_.

He is almost smiling when he responds, his voice deceptively soft. "Oh, another tragedy for your tender little bleeding heart," he says. "You can forgive anyone of anything except for looking out for their own interests."

Rey’s mouth twists as she gets to her feet, her legs carrying her to the side of his desk so she can glare at him without a piece of furniture between them. She feels, she thinks, like a feral dog, unmuzzled and rabid, hungry for blood. "That’s rich coming from a man born with a silver spoon crammed into every fucking orifice," she spits out.

Ben raises his eyebrows, his gaze razor-sharp and contrary. She's not sure if she likes that - or maybe she's not sure that she should like it. "I wasn’t bringing my personal experiences into a conversation about policy surveys the way you so clearly are, but, by all means, lecture me on how my background is clouding my judgment."

She bristles, hackles raised, and says, "Oh, that's right, you think everybody in the world - except for old white men, of course - are just supposed to act like they have no feelings. It’s only people with actual problems who need to argue logically at all times and ignore their emotions."

”Rey, I hate to break this to you since it's obvious no one has ever told you this, but it is your literal job to give advice based on the data regardless of your beliefs." As he speaks, she can see his mouth tilting up, edging into something like pleasure at her impotent belligerence. It makes her want to punch him right in his stupid beautiful mouth. "You don’t see me connecting every single issue to my personal life.”

"Well, I find it really interesting that you suddenly decided to take food stamps off the table when a three months ago you said it should be at the forefront of the campaign."

"Oh, please. Three months ago we didn't have about fifty mass shootings and we weren't fighting the NRA about the narrative for gun control. Things change."

"Is that what you and _Zorii Bliss_ talked about over caviar?" Rey hears herself and, even as she says it, hates the sound of her voice, hates the obvious pettiness in the way she says the other woman's name. _Zorii Bliss_: gorgeous and sophisticated and age-appropriate Zorii Bliss. She shakes her head, trying to focus her anger. "Throwing a bone to the gun control lobby so no one will have to be depressed about poor people starving?"

"Why does it matter what we talked about? What the fuck does that have to do with -" Ben stops, almost in the middle of a word, and Rey watches as his expression changes just the barest amount, like he's suddenly realizing - "Are you...jealous?"

Rey takes an instinctive step back, her arms crossing over her chest. "What? No. _No_. Why the fuck would I - I'm not jealous. I'm not -" She clears her throat, narrows her eyes, mouth down-turned and harsh. "People aren't disposable, Solo, and you can't ignore people living in poverty just because they don't suit your political agenda."

"Poverty isn't going to up and walk away the minute we turn our backs," he says, callous and half-disdainful. "I'm just saying we don't need to have it as a fucking centerpiece. You need to remember how this works, sweetheart, because all of this is just one big fucking game that no one ever wins."

She scoffs. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he hisses, getting to his feet so he can speak to her more directly, so they are only a few feet away, turning toward each other like satellites in orbit. She hates the thrill that goes up her spine at how he towers over her, all of him tall and broad and clearly holding back. _Pent up_ \- those are the words for it. Pent the fuck up. God, she's never wanted him to let loose as much as she does now. "My whole life has been nothing but politics. Photo ops and meet-and-greets and every fucking holiday spent with a camera in my face. It's all a big god damn game, and you need to learn to wait your fucking turn."

“Oh, of course. It must have been so hard growing up Benjamin Organa Solo," she sneers. "I’m sure it was very difficult to have your mother glad-handing to get you into the right preschool for the right kindergarten to get into the right elementary school, the right boarding school to feed into the right college." Her words speed up as she keeps talking, and all she wants is to keep that expression on his face as she digs her nails into him and tears - rage and indecision and pride all mixed together in the set of his features. "Aren’t you just the American fucking dream? Every single thing you’ve ever accomplished stems directly from your family’s generational wealth, and their legacy is _wasted_ on your undeniable fucking _mediocrity_.”

She can tell even as she’s saying it that she’s not playing fairly anymore, that she’s hitting way below the belt, hurling out insults that are way beyond anything he’s ever thrown her way, and she doesn’t give a shit. She realizes, somewhat distantly, like it’s not even really her saying all of it, that she doesn’t even really want to hurt him. She just wants, she knows suddenly, to prove she _can_.

Ben doesn’t even say anything in response to that. His eyes are ablaze, expression livid, his body rigid and tensed. There is some small part of her that recognizes the danger, that’s telling her she should get out now, quit while she’s ahead, but Rey ignores it because -

Because arguing with him is somehow the best thing that’s happened to her all fucking week.

”Win or lose,” she says while he stares at her, his entire being vibrating with barely contained anger, “at least I tried. At least I believed in something. _You_ \- you believe in nothing, you stand for nothing, and you have done _nothing_ except make some journalists cry and break your mother's heart.”

That's what finally does it. She should have left out the last part of it, she thinks distantly when he stalks closer to her, the size of him forcing her to back up more and more until her spine hits the wall. Ben cages her in there, one hand slamming into the space next to her head, and he completely fills her line of sight until all she can see and think and breathe is _him_.

In that moment, Ben leaning into her, demanding her full attention, struggling to keep himself from losing it completely, all Rey wants to do is push him just a little further and watch that thin thread of control snap in half.

All she really wants, she thinks wildly, is for him to touch her again.

He brings his face close to hers, inches away, and hisses, “Shut the fuck _up_.”

There must be something wrong with her, the way that makes her whole body light up - just like that. Like he’s reached inside of her and flipped a switch, pulled a lever and brought her to life, all blood-thirsty and hungry and mad with want. “Make me,” she whispers hoarsely, shifting her body closer to his, chin tilted up like a dare.

She’s never been more aware of herself, in a room with Ben, the door closed, his body a heartbeat away from hers. She wants him to move his hand from the wall to her waist, wants him to whisper harsh words into her ear, wants him to undress her and splay her out underneath him and fuck her until she’s sobbing with need. She wants him to give her everything he has, hang the consequences.

Ben opens his mouth, his eyes falling to her lips, and for a moment that stretches out forever, he leans in closer to her - and then, he stops. His hand falls away from the wall, and he steps back, his breath shuddering in through his teeth.

Rey relaxes, and it’s only when she does that she recognizes how tightly she was holding herself together. Her abdomen hurts from the way she was tensing the muscles of her stomach, her legs feeling like they’ve turned to lead. Her heartbeat loud in her ears, her blood rushing, every part of her in flames.

For a while, he just - looks at her. Rey can’t remember everything she said - already the entire argument seems distant and faraway, wavy and blurred like she’s looking at it through a fogged window. She hesitates, about to grudgingly apologize for the inappropriateness of her behavior, when Ben speaks, his voice low and dark.

"You should go home," he says. "I can finish up by myself."

Rey opens her mouth, about to protest - and then, just as quickly, snaps it shut. "Whatever you want," she says, mockingly simpering, "sir."

At the last word, he seems almost like he's going to change his mind, like he might close the space between them and make good on her promise of _whatever he wants_. Instead, he takes another breath, screwing his eyes shut for a moment. When he looks at her again, there is nothing but dead calm written over his features. "I'll see you on Monday," he mutters, backing further away from her to stand at his desk.

She nods, jaw clenched tight enough that it nearly aches, and walks over to him to grab her coat and purse. She can see how his chest stills when she gets close to him, how he relaxes only when she's far enough away that there's no possibility they might touch, like he is holding his breath. She wants to tell him something mean and petty, something like _I hope you drop dead and then your corpse is run over by a bus_ or _go fuck yourself, you miserable prick. _Instead, she hears herself say, her voice as wretched and open as a wound, not nearly as cruel as she hoped it would be, "I gave you an out."

Ben drags his hand over his face, pressing his palm against his mouth. He nods, letting it fall back at his side. "I know," he says quietly, his gaze trained steadily on her.

Rey bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t know what will spill out of her mouth if she lets herself talk. She walks out the door, her hair perfectly tied back, and leaves without another word.

She can still feel her heart pounding (in her chest, in her throat, between her legs) for the entire drive home, and she makes it back in record time. The second the door to her apartment closes, she leans her full weight back against it, tearing her skirt up to her waist and slipping her fingers down the front of her underwear. She brings herself off that way, almost horrified at how she thinks of his voice in her ear, picturing him fucking her, hard and fast, into the wall of his office. Not enough to stop herself from coming to the memory of his hands on her, him inside her.

After, she promises herself it will be the last time she ever does something like that; she knows the whole time that it isn't true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cause when we play democracy you always take immunity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Un1ik6U-gmQ)


	26. with all due respect, you need to get your shit together now, lady

_ Is there any parade you cannot rain on?_

** 26\. with all due respect, you need to get your shit together now, lady**

_hey girl_

_can i come over?_

_i vow to be chill_

_On two conditions_

_1) Do not ask me about various things I know you want to ask me about_

_2) We are watching Lord of the Rings and it is not up for discussion_

_deal_

_ [HEART WITH STARS EMOJI] [CRYING CAT FACE EMOJI] [SINGLE EYEBALL EMOJI] _

_Rose none of those make sense together_

True to her word, Rose doesn’t ask about anything to do with Ben. Rey shovels popcorn into her mouth by the handful while they watch the extended versions of the first two Lord of the Rings movies. Rose, for her part, fills the quiet with inane commentary throughout: _every girl had a crush on Aragorn or Legolas but I think I was more of a Gimli broad; Arwen is irritatingly perfect, how does that bitch look so great and also not be afraid of horses; the last time I watched this was after a day of tripping on shrooms, and, let me tell you, it holds the fuck up_. Rey laughs noncommittally at her various observations and offers remarks of her own here and there when it seems like Rose might be expecting more of a response.

Even though neither of them brings him up, by the middle of the second movie, Ben is all Rey can think about. The fact that they’re not discussing him only serves to highlight even more vividly all the things she wants to say. 

She knows, though, that if she lets herself start talking, she won’t be able to stop.

When Rose leaves in the evening, the sun already set, she finally asks Rey the question she was clearly dying to ask all day.

“How are you feeling?”

Rey sighs, folding her arms across her chest.

How she is feeling: like shit. Like someone has scooped out her innards with a pocket knife and left her ribs hanging open like the folds of a coat. Like she has just been eliminated from a dumb reality show competition that she wasn’t expecting to win, not really, but she’s still disappointed to have it confirmed to her that she definitely won’t. Like a really hot guy who she has some level of feelings for (_has_, present tense, which she hates, she wishes it were _had_) has just told her he’s not down for whatever dating situation they had going on, and she still has to see him because her idiot pride won’t allow her to take his recommendation and go work literally anywhere else, and she is, bizarrely, still super into the idea of having sex with him even though she hates his actual living guts.

Rey feels like that.

What she actually tells Rose is, “I feel fine!” with a perky smile on her face.

Rose smiles, but there is a crinkle that’s appears right above her eyes that plainly says she doesn’t buy a single word of it. “Okay, babe,” she murmurs, nodding thoughtfully. “Just let me know if you ever feel anything other than fine.”

”For sure,” Rey says. It is, she comforts herself, only mostly a lie.

At work, the arguing doesn’t stop. It’s as if they’ve opened the floodgates, and now neither of them has the strength, or even the desire, to stop the water from rushing out and dragging them down together.

If she is being honest with herself (the rare times that she is), Rey knows she doesn’t really want it to stop. Every insult hurled over piles of paperwork, every time she gets him close to breaking something fragile with his bare hands, every time it seems like Ben might take all his pent up rage and let it out by fucking her from behind on his desk, it makes her feel so very - _alive_.

She wonders if it’s the same for him. She wonders if he, perversely, enjoys it when she manages to stump him, or if he likes the moment when he can see one of his barbs has landed, when it’s apparent she has to wrack her brain for something worse to lob in his direction. She wonders if he, like her, likes how close his body gets to hers when an argument ramps up, how her whole being itches to close the distance between them. How it makes her heart turn somersaults inside her chest, how it makes her thighs squeeze together, dripping with want, how she always has to go home afterwards and release all of her frustration by burying her fingers in her cunt until she forgets her own name.

She wonders if he knows all of that - if he would care if he did. She always remembers, just a moment too late, that he already made it clear that he doesn’t.

Each day drags, unhurried and never-ending.

Rey has been anxious for the election to be over for a while; she is sick to death of 80 hour workweeks, tired of always feeling on edge. Of always _being_ all edge, flinty and rough and sharp as a steak knife. Now, though, she's grateful that time seems to creep at a snail's pace, and she dreads the end of the campaign more than she looks forward to it.

Because the election will happen, and it still won’t make him want her. And what then, she wonders miserably. What then.

Rey is not entirely sure what the dinner they are attending is for, which is probably not good being that she is the one who put it down in Ben’s schedule, but she is entirely sure that she hates everybody in the building. Probably everyone in a radius of thirty blocks, too, or maybe everyone within city limits.

It’s a bipartisan event, which bodes ill for his temper, and it’s full of old Congressmen who keep mistaking her for a waitress, which bodes even worse for hers.

After dinner, which Rey never actually gets to sit down and eat, making do with snatching up handfuls of food from busboys passing by with trays full of half-finished meals, she finds herself having to fend off the, at different turns, strange, unsettling, and downright creepy advances of Congressman and Senators and their various aides.

Rey is taking a moment to breathe at the back of the crowded hall, digging ferociously into half of a lobster tail with her nails and teeth, when he approaches her.

She recognizes him immediately. She’s seen him on the cover of the New York Times, his smug face plastered on Facebook and Reddit: Enric Pryde, the chief of staff, the man behind the curtain. He’s been around the West Wing in some capacity, she’s read, for years. Looks it too, every inch the political shark - tall, sneering, a little too pleased with his own cleverness. The minute he catches her eye, she feels a reflexive shiver of _no bad wrong not today Satan_ slide up her spine.

Pryde walks up to her lazily, a smirk tipping up the corners of his mouth.

Rey smiles at him tightly, distantly, hoping, somewhat uselessly, that he won’t talk to her.

She has no such luck.

“Who are you here with, darling?”

She blinks, a bit caught off guard by his opener. She chokes down the rest of her lobster. “Pardon me?”

“Whose date are you?” His smile grows, showing all his teeth, like a hyena, cackling. “Precious little thing like you. Whose arm are you here to pretty up? Whose profile are you here to,” he lifts his eyebrows meaningfully, taking a long sip of his martini, “_raise_?”

Her answer is frigid, icy. “I’m here for work, actually.”

“Ah. Whose _secretary_ are you, then?”

She doesn’t like his tone, like she couldn’t possibly be anything else, like what he really means is _mistress_. She doesn’t like one single thing about him. Rey glances around the room, looking for a convenient excuse to leave the conversation, and grabs a flute of champagne from a passing tray, downing half of it as fast as she can. “I’m Ben Solo’s assistant,” she says, in between huge gulps of alcohol. She wouldn't ordinarily drink when on the clock, but her current circumstances necessitate a bit of liquid patience.

Pryde’s face lights up, and Rey crosses her arms, instantly dropping them back to where they were before when his eyes flicker down to her chest. “Oh, Solo? Well, what a coincidence. He and I go way back. Although,” he muses, “I don’t think I’ve seen him since he stormed out of the Oval in a huff.” Pryde chuckles, leaning toward her conspiratorially. Rey tilts back as far as she can without physically stepping away. “I don’t think I’ve seen a man quit with so much fervor before,” he says quietly. “If I’m being honest, it made my day.”

Rey stares at him, her mouth slightly ajar. “He quit?”

His eyes are positively aglow with amusement at her apparent surprise. “Oh, darling. I assumed he told you. Ah, no matter - our version’s already been accepted as fact. Yes, he quit, we were all so shocked, blah blah blah. Oh -” he exclaims, as if he’s just now realizing, “I neglected to introduce myself. Enric Pryde.”

He holds a thin hand out; Rey doesn’t take it. “I know who you are.”

He retracts his hand, his smile stretching wider, ear to ear. “Of course you do. And what’s your name, dear?”

“I’m surprised, Mr. Pryde. I would have thought you more well-informed than that.”

He laughs, the picture of delight. “Well, I guess we know Solo likes them feisty.”

Rey clenches her hands into fists, only vaguely registering that she’s increasingly at risk of shattering the half-full glass of champagne into shards. She can feel her mouth growing cold and mean, unable to keep the polite smile on her face any longer. “Excuse me?”

“Boy’s been dipping his pen in the company ink, eh?” His eyes roll over her, appreciative, and Rey feels an intense need to shower. “Well, I can’t say I blame him.”

She takes a moment to breathe, to relax her grip and straighten her back. “I do hate to disappoint,” she says in a voice as hard as diamonds, “but if you think I would touch that man with a ten-foot pole, then I’ve got a fucking bridge to sell you.”

Annoyingly, that only makes him laugh. “Good lord, you even sound like him.” He shakes his head. She wants to smack the amused expression off his sharp cheekbones. “_A fucking bridge to sell you_.” He finishes off his drink, handing it to a passing waiter without a glance. “Just as well if he isn’t. Leaves more of you girls for the rest of us.”

Rey is deadly calm when she replies, her gaze steady and even. “Sir, if you say one more word to me, you will need to find one of us girls to help you collect your teeth.”

“Oh, darling, I can only hope.”

Before she can utter another syllable, before she can haul back and prove her threat wasn’t the empty campaign promise he seemed to think it was, Rey feels a hand on the small of her back, a low voice murmuring darkly into her ear.

“Rey.” She turns her head to see Ben looking at her, all at once taking in his clenched fist, the muscles jumping in his cheeks, his eyes bright and furious. She scarcely has a moment to realize it’s the first time he’s touched her in two weeks when he continues, his voice tight with suppressed rage, “Are you okay? What is he saying to you?”

“Nothing, we're not - I'm fine.”

If Pryde is at all aware of just how much danger he appears to be in, he doesn’t show it one jot. “Speak of the devil - Solo, we were just talking about you. Your lovely assistant - Rey, was it? - is quite the little firecracker.”

The hand on her waist tightens, and Rey sucks in a sharp breath. She opens her mouth, about to tell him to let go, about to remind him where they are, but Ben doesn’t seem to notice or even care. He takes a step forward, positioning her behind him. 

“Leave her alone,” he grinds out, each word a blunt instrument.

Pryde looks between the two of them, sudden understanding passing over his features. “Protective, are we?” He smiles at Rey, a meaningful glint in his eyes, and it makes her stomach turn. “Darling, I have a feeling you weren’t telling the whole truth just now. Not with you looking more and more like the most tempting bottle of ink in the world.”

Ben’s palm drops away from her, and he makes an aborted lunge toward Pryde, stopped only by Rey holding onto his forearm. “What the fuck did you say to her?” he hisses, the tendons in his neck standing out as he glares at the other man.

Rey curls her nails into the thick fabric of his suit jacket, feeling a rush of panic roll through her like a tidal wave. She glances around, praying he hasn’t caught anyone’s attention with his outburst. “Ben, _leave it_.”

He glances back at her, unseeing, and Rey widens her eyes, trying to communicate silently important information like _STOP_ and _BAD_ and _THIS IS REALLY ATTRACTIVE BUT IT’S NOT THE RIGHT TIME FOR IT_.

It doesn’t seem to do much of anything. Ben turns his attention back to the other man, his teeth bared, when another voice, light and airy, interrupts him before he can start.

“Ben!” Rey looks over just in time to see Amilyn sidle up next to Ben, easily pushing Rey away with a shockingly strong grip on her shoulder. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Your mother needs you.” Rey watches Ben as he glares at Amilyn and Pryde, seeming a little like a coiled snake, anxious to snap his jaws around anything with a pulse. “Go find her,” Amilyn prompts. When he still doesn’t leave, she bites out, “_Now_.”

Ben works a muscle in his jaw, his gaze flickering to Rey, his expression some mix of livid and, strangely, worried. After a moment, he turns on his heel and stalks away, fully shouldering an senatorial aide in the side as he passes by. 

Amilyn watches him leave, as if to ensure his good behavior, and then shifts her attention back to Pryde.

“Enric,” she says, her voice sickly sweet, “it is so lovely to see you, as always. I wish we could stay and chat, but I need our young Rey for something.”

“It’s always a pleasure, Amilyn.” Pryde grabs Rey’s hand, bending his head to press a kiss to the back of her knuckles. She tears away from his grip the moment his fingers lift from her skin. “Darling,” he purrs, “I do hope we get the chance to meet again.”

“I wish I could say the same to you,” she says coldly, wiping her hand off on her skirt. It seems to only make him more pleased.

“Rey,” Amilyn says warningly, glaring at the younger woman. She jerks her head, gesturing for Rey to follow her as she takes the champagne flute from her hands and sets in on another passing tray. “Shall we?”

Rey allows Amilyn to lead her away, the world around her still hazy with anger, her blood roaring in her ears.

She barely notices the direction that Amilyn is taking her until they are at the entrance of the hall, opening the doors and stepping onto the pavement outside. The rush of cold air floods her senses, as sobering as a bucket of ice. Rey feels dizzy, unsatisfied aggravation still pounding through her extremities. After a minute, she shivers, wishing she’d at least been able to retrieve her jacket from the coat check. 

Next to her, Amilyn tugs a carton of Marlboros out of her minuscule clutch, lipping a cigarette out of the box while her other hand works a silver zippo. 

There are a few people milling around on the sidewalk, small groups of well-dressed men. It's almost all men, Rey notices, the few women standing beside them in short heels, their dresses high around their necks and low at their ankles. 

Amilyn glances at Rey as she lights up, the flame flickering dimly in the low light of the street lamps. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Rey shakes her head, and Amilyn grins, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke spill from her lips. She shrugs, on the verge of self-deprecating.

”It’s a bad habit, I know,” she admits through the fog around her hair, “but there are worse ones to have. Everyone in this city needs a vice.”

Rey eyes her. “I suppose,” she says warily.

Amilyn looks at Rey from the corner of her eye. “I’m sure you’re not too pleased with me,” she says flatly, “and I can see that’s the first time you’ve had to deal with a man like that, so I will forgive your unprofessionalism with Pryde back there.”

Rey narrows her eyes, indignation rising through her before she can push it down. “_My_ unprofessionalism? He was harassing me. Am I not allowed to defend myself?”

Amilyn speaks with a voice of steel, her spine rigid as she uses her height to loom over Rey. “You are here solely to be of assistance,” she says. “You should be invisible. De-escalate problems, not create them. Definitely not encourage Ben’s worse instincts. If you are not helping, you are in the way.”

Rey bites down on her tongue until it hurts. “I’m sure you’re absolutely right, ma’am,” she forces out.

Amilyn takes another drag from her cigarette, her expression inscrutable as she looks at Rey. “Oh, honey,” she murmurs after a while, “why don’t you just come out and say what it is you’re really angry with me about.”

Rey blanches for a moment - but only for a moment. She tilts her head back, crosses her arms. “You -” she spits out, fury shaking the words on their way from her throat, “you _ordered_ him to -”

She doesn’t end the sentence, letting it dangle between them like the curved hook of a fishing lure, jagged and ugly. 

Amilyn snorts derisively, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. “To break up with you?” she clarifies. “Jesus, and you wonder why I think you’re being unprofessional. This isn’t middle school.” She taps the end of her cigarette, letting the ash fall to the pavement. Rey’s breath is coming out of her in a fog of white, and she trembles, pinching her arms for warmth. If Ben were here, she thinks, still a little foolish, her heart still as tender as a bruise, he’d have already given her his coat. “I didn’t order him to do anything,” Amilyn tells her. “I’m not your god damn mother, Rey, I am your boss. You are a grown woman, and Ben is a grown man. I can’t make either of you take your medicine and go to sleep at bedtime and eat your fucking vegetables. All I did was remind him of a few seemingly minor details he apparently forgot.”

“Like what?”

Amilyn laughs, half-mocking. “I don’t know, dear, like: the election. His mother’s career. _His_ career.” She shrugs again. “Fuck if it did any good though. The only thing that made him listen was -”

She pauses, seeming like she might be weighing the consequence of an honest answer.

Rey blinks hard, the corners of her eyes pricking uncomfortably. She swipes under them, bats stray hairs come loose from her updo away from where they’re sticking to the gloss on her lips. “What?” She can hear how desperate her voice is, can hear how hard she's working to hide it. “Was what?”

The older woman titters, her expression suddenly pitying. “Rey. Honey. I have known Ben for most of his life. He is...stubborn. Tempestuous. He can be very selfish.”

“What made him listen to you?” Rey asks again, stronger.

“I told him the truth,” Amilyn says simply. She lifts her mouth to the air, breathing deeply, cracking her neck as she meets Rey’s eyes again. “I told him what would happen to you. Rey - have you heard of Padme Amidala?”

She nods. “Yes. I have, actually.”

Amilyn’s eyes soften. “Of course you have,” she says gently. “Of course.” She lets her cigarette fall from her long, slender fingers, stamps it out under the toe of her lavender heel. “She was a Senator, just like her husband, Leia’s father. Ben’s grandfather. A stubborn, tempestuous, selfish man. Sound familiar?” Rey stays silent, watching Amilyn as she thinks, her eyes distant and faraway. Her voice is filled with something like - regret. Longing for something that's already passed her by. “Padme Amidala was on track to do so much more, to _be_ so much more. But the minute Skywalker was put on that ticket, made Palpatine's running mate, her career stalled. And then,” she says, her voice hard, “when he was arrested, it was dead in the water. Still, in spite of that, in spite of her husband’s mistakes, the shame he brought on her and her children, she was...perfect. Did everything _perfectly_. Unflinching, unending, unwavering support.” Amilyn cocks her head, considering Rey. “Do you know what they called her in the papers?”

Rey shakes her head, mute, and Amilyn’s mouth twists, rueful.

“_Lady Macbeth_,” she says. “As if it was her fault. As if he had done it for anybody but himself. Because the truth is, people always find a way to shift the blame to the woman, and _you_. You're so - young. You don't even know what it's like, the kind of hate you have coming your way. The kind of hate that leaves a stain, the kind that will never, not ever, fade. I reminded Ben of that; people have short memories when it comes to a man’s mistakes. The women around them are never so lucky.” Amilyn holds her gaze steadily. “Are you really prepared for that?”

Rey returns her stare. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because -” She pauses, her lips curved. “Because you're young. You have your whole career ahead of you, your whole _life_ ahead of you. And you should be very, _very_ sure that you’re ready for what happens when you hitch your wagon to any man’s. Especially his.”

Rey lets out her breath in a rush, her throat tight. “Okay.” Her eyes fall to the ground, seeing blankly the corpse of the smashed cigarette, curled blackly at her feet. “I - I know you’re right.”

When she looks up again, Amilyn’s lips are slanted up serenely, her eyes knowing. “At least save it for after the election, would you? Wait another few days, and then you can fuck up your life however you see fit.”

Rey’s answering smile is strained, her eyes darting away. “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue," she mutters.

Amilyn steps closer to her, her expression softening. “Oh, honey.”

Rey nods, blinking fast. She thinks of Ben, the look in his eyes, his fingers gripping her waist like she was something of his own - like she _mattered_. Nothing more than a flight of fancy, she knows, a trick of the light. 

Amilyn smiles at her, draping a hand on Rey’s shoulder, her thumb rubbing her upper arm reassuringly.

Gently, she tugs her closer, dipping her head to Rey’s ear to ask quietly -

“Do you want a cat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so what event were they at? fuck if i know
> 
> ANAKIN IS RICHARD NIXON THERE I SAID IT. except ani was arrested. why? for the drama
> 
> if ur wondering what ben has been doing it is alternating between listening to i know it’s over by the smiths on repeat and listening to boys don’t cry by the cure on repeat. also masturbating and wallowing in self-loathing


	27. get the government out of my fucking snatch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i upped the chapter count by 1!! THIS IS A LONG CHAPTER BECAUSE IT’S ALL EXPOSITION AND MONOLOGUES!!!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!! look i hate exposition as much as the next guy but sometimes it is a necessary evil

_ Your idea of crisis management is screaming, "We're fucked! Bury me!"_

We're fucked! Bury me!

** 27\. get the government out of my fucking snatch**

Poe catches her in the break room first thing on Saturday morning, on Halloween, before she’s so much as had a sip of her cream and sugar splashed with coffee. He looks harried, his usual cool demeanor completely thrown over in favor of an expression of complete and utter frenzy.

The moment he catches her eye, he makes a beeline to where she stands by the fridge, her mouth puckered as she blows on her coffee to cool it.

“Please tell me there is no particular reason,” he says, agitated, “why I’m fielding calls asking whether or not you are having a clandestine affair with our resident Severus Snape.”

Rey takes her time to respond, delicately taking a sip from her mug. “I don’t think Solo would appreciate that comparison, Poe. He once referred to _Harry Potter_ as _that child wizard thing_. You know, at that point he’s clearly getting it wrong on purpose.”

“Rey, I think you missed the part where I got phone calls - calls, plural, as in more than one - from not only Hux but actual journalists, asking whether or not Ben Solo is having an affair with his assistant.”

“Why are you talking to me about it?” She raises her eyebrows meaningfully, jerking her head in the direction of the hallway. “Solo's office is right there, why don't you go ask him?”

“He slammed the door in my face when I tried,” Poe grumbles. “Jackson, it is really extremely worrisome to me that you still haven’t answered the question.”

“You haven’t asked me a question yet.”

He heaves a sigh, looking very much like a substitute teacher attempting to wrangle a class of vicious preteens. “Did you have an affair with Solo?”

“No, Poe," she says evenly, "we are not having an affair.”

“It is really not reassuring to me that you answered a past tense question in the present participle.”

Rey glares at him from under her lashes. “Dameron. What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to give me an unequivocal response in the negative. I want you to tell me that I did not just lie to members of the press to cover your ass from a Hurricane Katrina level shit-storm full of of - of -”

“Shit?” she guesses.

“Worse than that,” he replies flatly. “_Shit_ would be too nice of a word. Jackson, I had to hear from _Armitage Hux_ that your boss tried to physically fight the White House chief of staff over your honor, or lack thereof, at a fucking _dinner party._ Do you know how that makes me look? Do you know what happens if that bit of local gossip were to suddenly go national?”

“I'm not sure you could call it a fight. It was a skirmish at best.”

“Rey. Please. _Please_, tell me I have no reason to be worried about this. Because a public brawl over a secret mistress is just the thing I need to spin four days before an election.”

Rey rolls her eyes. God, sometimes she’d just like to throttle him. “He didn't try to fight Pryde for the sake of my honor. You know Solo, he's -” She pauses, hunting for the word. “Possessive. If he tried to fight Pryde, which I am not saying he did, it was because I'm _his_ assistant and he thought Pryde was getting a bit too friendly. It wasn’t anything sordid. That would be far too interesting.”

Poe lets out his breath in a rush, his head dropping forward in apparent relief. “Jesus Christ. Rey, in the future? Tell me about this kind of bullshit when it happens. Don't make me come ask you.”

“Amilyn was there too," she points out. "You want to go yell at her for not sharing information?”

Poe glares at her, his dark eyebrows tilted together dangerously. “No, I think I'd much rather take out my anger on someone who can't fire me.”

Rey takes a huge gulp of her coffee, hissing when it goes down hotter than she expected. “Thanks ever so much,” she mutters sarcastically at Poe as he retreats.

“Don't mention it, kid," he calls over his shoulder, and then suddenly pauses, turning back to look at her curiously. "Just to be clear: you're not, right?” His voice is too quiet considering how far they are from each other. It makes something in her gut bend and twist itself into a pretzel.

She feigns ignorance. “Not what?”

“Having an affair with him?”

Rey ignores the way her heart thumps hard enough to beat out of her chest. She manages to get out around the sudden lump in her throat, “No, Poe. I’m not.”

"So is it true?"

Rey blinks. Finn and Rose, sitting across the table from her, both staring seriously, hands clasped together, make the perfect picture of concerned parents. Rey sighs, stabbing her pasta with her fork, wishing she were in any other profession, one where people don’t act like high schoolers discussing which cheerleader made out with the quarterback after prom. Or whatever happens in American high schools.

"Is what true?" she asks, already knowing what Finn is referring to.

Rose asks the second question, her eyes alight with excitement. "Did Solo verbally threaten the White House chief of staff because he hit on you in front of, like, thirty people?"

Rey nearly chokes on her iced tea. "Jesus, no. He didn’t. And by the way, this happened less than twenty-four hours ago. Doesn't anyone on the Hill sleep?"

"Clearly not,” Rose deadpans.

"People in this town trade pieces of gossip like they're baseball cards,” Finn adds.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, honey bun, I'm too young for that reference."

"Fuck off, Rose,” Rey and Finn say at the same time.

”I have to say,” Rose continues, undeterred, “challenging a man to fisticuffs over your virtue is very capital-R Romantic.”

Rey sighs deeply, rubbing her temples with her thumbs. ”That’s not what happened. You know how angry he gets when someone uses his stapler without asking; imagine how furious he was when someone tried to take his assistant without clearing it via the proper channels.”

Rey watches Rose and Finn exchange a significant look; she wants to literally evaporate into a finely misted version of herself and disappear through the air vents whirring above their heads.

”Sure, girl,” Rose says finally, after a silent, drawn-out, eyebrow-based discussion with her boyfriend. “Whatever you say.”

Rey looks back down, furrowing her brow, poking at her lunch with slightly more animosity than before. ”Why are you two at work today anyway? Shouldn’t you have called in sick to decorate for your spook-tacular Halloweekend extravaganza?”

Finn grins widely. ”First of all,” he says, laughing, “it’s called _The Carnivale of Spirits, Both Ghoulish and Alcoholic_, and second of all, Rose finished decorating last night.” He holds his hand up, and, without looking, Rose promptly high-fives him. “Bring your singing voice, because you’re definitely doing karaoke.”

”Ugh, _not again_.”

Rose smiles gleefully, jumping up and down, shaking the booth. ”Get ready to hear Alanis Morisette as she was meant to be heard: being belted out by a very drunk Vietnamese woman. What’s your costume?”

”Don’t have one.” Rey pauses as she looks up, taking in the sternly disappointed faces across from her. “I’ve been busy!”

”Fine,” Rose sighs dramatically, “I will throw something together for you. You are so lucky you have me looking out for you. And bring a warm coat, it’s supposed to snow tonight.”

”It’s not gonna get cold enough to stick,” Finn reminds her.

”Well, obviously not, but still. Dress for the weather, I shan’t have you dead of exposure before you can hear me sing You Oughta Know.”

”I _have_ heard you sing You Oughta Know.”

”Well, yes,” Rose concedes. “But not for a whole year.”

  
  


Leia catches her in the hallway, on the way back from her lunch break.

It’s the first time Rey has seen her in person in about two and a half months, a quick glimpse across the various rooms they both happen to be in notwithstanding.

It’s also the first time Rey has seen her since - since the whole thing with Ben started. And ended.

The older woman smiles brightly when she notices Rey passing by the door to her office and calls her name, waving in a _come closer_ gesture.

Rey freezes, her eyes widening. “Ma’am?”

"Come on in,” Leia says, still that beatific smile on her face. She waves her hand harder, clearly not about to take no for an answer.

Rey walks into her office feeling much the same as a doomed man being forced into the loving embrace of a guillotine.

She closes the door behind her at Leia’s request, glancing around the room. There are political biographies on the shelves, a small figurine of the Statue of Liberty (it's shockingly kitschy, the kind of thing to be found at an I-HEART-NEW-YORK style tourist trap), a few picture frames she can only see the backs of, each of them facing away from the door. As she sits gingerly at the chair in front of Leia, Rey wonders, before she can stop herself, if Ben is in any of the photographs.

"I was actually hoping I’d run into you,” Leia says cheerfully. “I was just about to leave for a meeting on the Hill, so the timing is perfect." She drops her voice, her expression gentle. "I wanted to check in. Amilyn let me know you had a bit of a run-in with my _dear old friend_ last night.” She says the words like what she really means is _sick son of a bitch_. Leia looks at Rey over her rim of her wire-frame glasses. “I wanted to make sure you're feeling okay.”

Rey nods, pleased that her voice doesn’t crack when she says, “I am, ma’am. Thank you for checking in.”

"I’m glad to hear it. Now, aside from that -“ She pauses, and Rey feels a nervous swoop in her gut. _Don’t ask about Ben, _she thinks desperately, but Leia only continues with, “I'm trying to make the rounds to all the staff just to say how truly grateful I am for your hard work throughout the campaign.”

Despite herself, Rey smiles. ”Thank you, ma’am.” _Whatever you do,_ _don't think about the fact that you had sex with her son_.

"Have you given any thought as to what you want to do after the election?" _Repeatedly._

Rey stammers, "Well, I -" _Don’t think about how good he is in bed, you are talking to your boss’s boss’s boss, the literal future of American politics, and she is his _mother_._ Rey shakes her head, clearing her throat. "I've been applying to a few places. Nothing too fancy, but, it's a start. Mostly executive assistant positions, but -“

”No,” Leia says calmly.

Rey’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, her nose scrunching unattractively. ”What?”

Leia waves her hand in the air in dismissal. “Don’t apply for any more assistant positions,” she says, her entire voice a command. “It’s a waste of your skills. If you’re interested in staying on if we win - _when_ we win, I know I’ll have a position open for you.”

Rey opens her mouth, hesitating -

Leia nods in quick realization, shrugging slightly. “Or, if you’re looking to go in another direction, I know people at some environmental lobbies, a few colleagues at the women’s caucus. Let me put in a good word.”

Rey finds herself smiling again. Uncanny, the effect Leia has on Rey when she’s choosing to shine her light on her - it makes Rey feel like she’s the most special person in the world. “That would be amazing, ma’am, thank you.”

Leia grins in return, her eyes kind. ”Well, I know I’ll miss seeing your smiling face around here, but if you’re sure you want to go in another direction, more power to you. I know Ben will miss having you.”

Rey - stops breathing. She feels a sudden rush of blood in her cheeks, a flush blossoming hotly on her face. Leia chuckles good-naturedly, watching her. “Oh goodness, dear, I didn't mean to make you blush -"

”We had sex," Rey blurts out. Leia stares at her blankly, and Rey flushes darker, her entire brain screaming at her in open revolt. She thinks, distantly, this must be what it feels like when people fall over the edge of various high cliffs: extreme panic, tinged with resignation. An overwhelming sense of _oh, well, I guess this is how I'm dying today._ "Ben and I, we were - involved, and - _oh god, oh my god, why the fuck did I say that_?”

She drops her head into her hands, feeling like she might be hyperventilating. Is this what a panic attack feels like? She may be having a panic attack. She regrets every single moment of her life from the day of her birth, all in the twenty seconds that pass between the end of her sentence and Leia tittering -

“Oh, dear. I kind of figured.”

Rey lifts her head to see Leia looking at her, her expression revealing nothing but tempered amusement. “I - _what_?”

Leia has the audacity to _laugh_. ”Good lord, Rey, I’m not blind. I know my son. I may have never seen it on Ben before, but I know what a man looks like when he’s, well. When he’s in such a way. It's how you look right now.”

Rey blinks. ”But why - why didn’t you say anything?”

Leia raises her eyebrows. ”My son can make his own choices, and so can you. If he wasn’t ready to talk about it, I was willing to wait. And, to be perfectly honest, I was kind of hoping it was just a false intuition.” She snorts. “Clearly, an exercise in futility.”

“But shouldn't you be -" Rey gestures helplessly in the air. "I don't know. Angry?”

”Why would I be angry?”

”Because we broke the rules, I'm pretty sure. Because of how it looks.”

Leia cocks her head to one side as she ponders this, and the gesture is so much like one Rey has seen Ben make a hundred times before that it almost makes her smile. ”Well, you are right about that,” she muses. “It certainly doesn’t look _good_."

Rey thinks, distantly, that this must be one of the strangest interactions she’s ever had. "Senator Organa, I - I _sincerely_ apologize.”

That breaks Leia from her reverie. She furrows her brow. “For what?”

“For -“ Rey pauses, trying to figure the best way to phrase it. “For all of this. For putting you in this position. For being so bloody idiotic, and for - for everything. I have no idea why I told you like that. Why I told you at all. I didn't mean to burden you, there is just something about your...face." She sounds - _insane_, she registers vaguely. Based on Leia's expression, the feeling is shared. "I felt like I needed to...confess."

"I have heard that before," Leia acknowledges kindly. "I think in a past life, I was the pope."

Rey bites her lip, tightening her fingers in the folds of her skirt. "I hope this won't make you think too poorly of me.”

Leia looks at her evenly, and Rey resists the urge to lower her eyes at the weight of her attention. The older woman takes her time to reply, stroking her index finger along her temple. Finally, she murmurs, “Dear, maybe it’s my age, but recently I’ve been feeling very at peace with everything. I don’t have an easy disposition by nature, you know," she says. "They used to call me a ballbuster, back in my early days in the House. I’m sure they still do, when I’m not in the room.” She pauses, smiling softly. “I have a feeling you understand what that can be like.”

Rey nods silently, unable to utter so much as a phoneme, and Leia goes on, seeming to address her words more to the space around her than Rey.

“Things will go my way or they won’t, I will win or I won’t. I can put the blame on the DNC, or on the country, or on my husband or my son or even you, but ultimately whatever happens is going to happen regardless. I can comfort myself with knowing I have run a clean campaign, a fair campaign, and I feel proud of that, whether or not I succeed in my goal. The world will keep spinning on November 4th. No matter what happens, I will keep fighting for the changes I believe in, and, if I don’t win, after me there will be another candidate. And another, and another. Because life goes on. I have a husband who loves me, and my son is learning to speak to me again, and everything is going pretty damn well, all things considered. So who am I to tell you how to live your life? I’ve made a lot of mistakes with Ben, but that won’t be one of them.”

Rey blinks hard, twisting her fingers together in her lap. She feels - off-kilter. Like the eternally wrong-facing wheel on a shopping cart. “Well, we're -“ She clears her throat, trying to sound as normal and logical as possible, considering the fact of who she is speaking to, and the subject on which they are speaking. “We're not still - it's over, so. So that won’t even be an issue.”

Leia chuckles quietly again, almost to herself. She takes off her glasses, setting them down on top of a stack of paperwork. When she leans forward, Rey sees, suddenly, a line of photographs on the windowsill behind Leia that she hadn’t noticed initially. She can see Ben is in one of the pictures, a few years younger than he is now. He looks - so beautiful, and happy, an unguarded smile stretching across his mouth, like the photographer caught him right in the middle of a rare burst of laughter. It clenches around her heart like a pair of hands, squeezing. “Oh, Rey,” Leia says softly, sweetly. “If you really think that, if you really think Ben would let go of you that easily, then I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn I’d like to sell you.”

  
  


It’s uncomfortable, the silence.

It starts the moment she walks into his office in the evening to check if there are any last minute tasks before she heads out. Ben hands her a packet, wordlessly gestures for her to flip through it, and sits at his computer while she makes notes in the margins. For twenty minutes, those are the only sounds - the quiet rustling of pages turning, the scratch of her pen, the tap of Ben’s fingers as they fly across his keyboard.

Rey closes the packet quietly when she’s finished. She doesn’t look at him when she says quietly, “Look, about last night.”

"I know,” Ben says. Her eyes flicker to him, watch the way he lays his forehead on the heel of his palm, his elbow digging into his desk. “I know, I shouldn't have gotten so worked up. I should have just let you handle it yourself. I just -“ He stops, lets out a shuddering breath; Rey holds hers in her chest, waiting. He lets out a forced bark of laughter, and Rey feels, strangely, disappointed. Funny, she thinks. She didn't know she could feel any more disappointed, and yet, here Ben is, once again proving her wrong. “I just hate that fucking guy," he says, almost to himself.

“I get it," she says, giving a strained half-smile. "I just met him, and I hate him too.” She picks up the folder in her lap and sets it on the desk, letting her hand linger over the top of it. She watches Ben’s gaze slide to her wrist, watches his neck as he swallows. “He did...tell me something interesting though. About you.”

Ben's eyes flutter, his attention shifting back to her face. “Oh?”

She nods, her voice a little stronger than before. “He told me you quit. He said they’d put out a different version, made it seem like they’d ousted you, but that you were the one who chose to walk.”

Ben tilts his head, closing his eyes momentarily. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “Yeah, I quit. Why does it matter?”

“What really happened?”

“Why does it matter?” he repeats. The question is a sigh, a prayer for mercy. The question is _the_ question, the one Rey finds herself wondering at night, every night, when she smells Ben’s cologne on her pillowcase, where it still hasn’t faded entirely: _why does it matter?_

“Because it does,” she answers, stubborn as ever.

He stands up, his chair still circling behind him as he crosses to the opposite wall. He takes his time thinking about it, ruminating; leans back against the wall, paces the length of the room. Rey waits patiently, letting him work it out in his own head. “It was -“ he begins after a minute; it’s a false start. Ben sucks in a breath of air, folding his arms across his chest. Defensive as ever. “It was a rough day,” he says. “I was tired. I was feeling that more and more towards the end of it: tired. It was getting harder and harder to get up in the morning, get out of bed. Like there was this...weight on my chest, crushing me.” At first, his delivery is almost casual, but pinched. Drawn tight as a bow. As he goes on, the words start pouring out of him like water spilling from a toppled glass, his shoulders loosening, his voice drifting into something akin to calm. “I used to - I used to have to take pills to help me sleep at night. Ambien, shit like that. I could never shut my brain off enough to rest, but then when I started in the White House, I couldn’t stop sleeping. The last morning, from the minute I walked in the door, it was problem after problem. Putting out fires. It was always one fucking problem after another. It was always ones we’d created, blamed them on someone else. Problems _I’d_ created. I was just so - sick of all of it. The shit we were doing, the shit I was saying. Every time I stepped into the building I felt sick, and it - it was supposed to make me _happy_. I was supposed to be happy." Ben laughs, but it's hollow, and it breaks her heart a bit. "It was when I was at lunch. My dad called. By that point I hadn’t - I hadn’t talked to him or my mom in about six years.”

Rey watches him for a moment. She remembers meeting Han, remembers thinking, _this is a man who knows how to push a button or two_. “What did he say?”

Ben shrugs. “Nothing much, at first. He talked about the Mets for about fifteen minutes. Asked if I was dating anyone. Said he had a big deal he was working on - he was always working on a big deal, always trying to close something. He talked about some opera my mother was dragging him to, said he was going to have to start planning the anniversary surprise he promised her he’d been working on for months that he hadn’t even started. He said he - missed me. He told me my mom was too afraid to call me herself. That she was afraid it had been too long and she had missed her chance. It was uncanny, right then, I heard her voice in the background, asking my dad who he was talking to. He said Chewbacca - that's his business partner, it's an old nickname, but it felt like he didn’t want to admit he’d called me. Like he was protecting her from me. He said he saw a profile they did of me in the New Yorker, he said they were using fifty cent words to accuse me of being an ungrateful brat. He told me I wasn’t nearly as bad as I or anyone else seemed to think. And then, he said to me, 'Aren’t you tired of it, kid?'" Ben pauses, his lips slanting in a half-smile, voice self-deprecating. "I pretended like I didn’t know what he was talking about. But when I hung up, that was all I could hear the rest of the day. Even when I went into the Oval Office. It was - I don’t even really remember what the meeting was about. I just know when it happened, when I was screaming my resignation in Snoke’s evil fucking face, all I could think was, _aren’t you tired of it?_ And I really, really was.”

For a minute after he finishes speaking, neither of them says a word. Rey looks at him evenly, and she has never wanted so strongly to just - hold him. To _have_ him. It's an instinct she wishes would go away - as much as she knows it won't.

”Why didn't you tell me?” she murmurs after a long while.

He lifts his shoulders again, not meeting her eye. “Would you have even cared if I did?"

She blinks. Says, with a voice so solid it must be the earth under their feet, "Yes."

Ben lets out a breath, rolls his head on his neck. Scrubs his hands over his face, folds his arms over his chest, and glances back down. He looks, she realizes, almost...relieved. “Listen,” he says lowly, “I know that - I know you hate me, and I know it deserve it, but -”

”I don’t hate you, Ben” she cuts in, her voice weary, all of her weary. She feels, at once, the weight of her exhaustion settling into her body, through her limbs, dragging her down. Like it's all caught up to her, all at once. “I just - I can’t - _do this_. Anymore.” His mouth is open, eyes bright, his entire face seeming a little like the barest glimpse of daylight through heavy curtains. Rey laughs, the sound of it almost like a sob. “After Tuesday, I’m done,” she says, reaching around the back her chair to shrug on her coat. If nothing else, at least, she won’t die of exposure.

Ben’s body jerks, his eyebrows knit together in surprise. “What?”

Her movements are all ruthless efficiency as she tugs the strap of her purse onto her arm, checks her hair tie, shoves the chair back into the right position. She doesn’t look at him, but she can feel his eyes on her as he stands a few feet back from the desk, his gaze as heavy as a pair of hands. “I don’t want to be around you. It just - it hurts too much.”

She glances at him one last time at the door, and she can’t read him anymore. His face has some expression written over it that she can’t place - or doesn’t want to. ”I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”

She hears her name one last time before she swings the door shut (_Rey wait don’t -_), but by then she is already walking fast down the hallway, buttoning her coat with shaking fingers. Her heart thumping hard enough that she worries, oddly, it will beat right out of her chest, leaving her as empty as the hands she shoves into her pockets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [forget to call your mama on the weekend, you should put yourself in time out (sh sh shame, sh sh shame on you!)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAgzfcWAlTo)


	28. if anyone should be depressed it’s me, but i’m stable as fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: the following sequence of events are the ones i envisioned when first writing this, with some minor changes.
> 
> you will never escape my copious references. this chapter is full of them.
> 
> as an aside, this is me shamelessly plugging my own fic! it is reylo! i just started it! it is another workplace romance! they are teachers! it will hopefully be good! [go read it!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22740151/chapters/54337657)

_ You look fantastic._

Yeah, I need a drink.

** 28\. if anyone should be depressed it's me, but i'm stable as fuck**

Rey takes one look at the so-called costume Rose laid out on hers and Finn’s bed and shakes her head. “I am not,” she says vehemently, “I repeat, _not_ wearing that.”

Rose throws her arms up, pouting. “Come on, _Risky Business_ is a classic.”

“I've never even seen the movie!”

“Oh, no one has, it's like _The Godfather_. We all know it, but no one's ever actually watched it.”

Rey furrows her brow. “People have definitely watched _The Godfather_.”

From his position shaving at the bathroom sink, Finn raises his hand. “I can corroborate, I have seen _The Godfather_.”

Rey gestures wildly in the air at precisely nothing. “_See_?”

“Finn! You are supposed to be on my side!”

“I am not attending a party with people I know - some of whom I work with - wearing nothing but bobby socks, a button down shirt, and knickers.”

“_Knickers_, oh my god, I love when you do your little Britishisms, it’s so _cute_ -”

Rey sputters helplessly. “Rose!”

“Listen,” Rose grins, “you are not going to be walking around in your underwear. Paige left these shorts here from her last visit and you guys are, like, the same size. Just borrow them!”

Rey watches as Rose unfolds the scrap of black spandex, her eyes widening as they are unfurled to reveal an article of clothing that is so very - tiny. “Calling those shorts is extremely charitable.”

Rose looks at her from under her eyelashes. She, she told Rey so smugly, has been planning her couples costume with Finn for two months. Rose is standing in the middle of her bedroom, hand braced on one leather-clad hip, her black hair shining in a curly poof under the twinkly fairy lights stretching across the ceiling. _Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee_, she squealed when she opened the door ten minutes earlier, startling a burst of laughter out of Rey that made her feel about five pounds lighter. “I don’t have many other options here, babe. Unless you’re hiding something truly killer under that _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ duster.”

Rey sniffs pettily. “It’s not a duster.”

“Yes, it is, and it has you looking as geometric yet shapeless as the Bermuda Triangle. At least in this getup, you might have a fighting chance of catching a man’s eye.”

“Well, that’s obviously my sole god damn purpose in life,” Rey snaps, too harsh and loud for the tone of the conversation.

There is a terrible silence for a brief moment; Finn breaks it first.

“Hey,” he says gently, catching Rey’s eye in the mirror. “We’re on your side.”

Rose takes a step back, folding her arms across her chest. “I'm sorry,” she murmurs. “I was trying to make a joke, I wasn’t thinking -”

Rey sighs, swiping her hands across her eyes. “No, _I’m_ sorry. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just - over sensitive.” Like a nerve, she thinks - like an exposed, raw nerve. She scrubs a hand over her face and lets a smile ease onto her mouth, raising her fists like a lackadaisical cheerleader. “I am - so excited for this party. Halloween! Ghosts! Yaaay.”

Rose laughs slightly. “I’m so grateful for your completely unforced enthusiasm. But you need a costume, as per the accord of 2018, and, unfortunately, I can’t afford to make an exception, even for you.”

Finn sighs as he walks closer to both of them, tugging a black leather jacket over his shoulders. “Will you ever let the accord go?”

“You were wearing gym shorts to my party, Finn. _Gym shorts_. And those horrible, ratty sneakers that I hate. So, no, I will never let it go.” She turns to Rey, cocking her head. “So what’s your other idea, besides _Risky Business_? Anything you can dream up, I will work to make it happen.”

Rey groans, hanging her head in defeat. “_Fine_. Clear the room. I guess I’m Tom fucking Cruise tonight.”

Halloween, according to Rose, is _the_ holiday.

There is, she has been known to claim, none better. A holiday for candy and drinking, where no one feels obligated to spend time with extended family, and everyone gets to dress up in costumes.

In previous years, Rose’s (and Finn’s, once they got more serious) Halloween parties were solely an excuse to drink with a few friends and shriek along to music videos Rose pulled up onto her TV with an HDMI cable. But the parties, as they do, evolved, and turned into a sprawling mess of biblical proportions.

As they flood like a plague of locusts into the apartment over the course of the next two hours, Rey realizes she doesn’t know more than half of the people who come in. There is an entire school bus sized group of people who work at Capital One monopolizing the couch and coffee table. There are students from frats and sororities at local colleges who know someone who know someone who once had a class with one of Finn’s frat brothers. No one appears to be older than twenty-five, and everyone is drinking like Finn’s end of the world subtitle is a literal physical inevitability.

Rey feels a little bit out of place.

She wishes she could enjoy it more, but, shockingly enough, the party is not actually as bad as she thought it would be. Nursing a truly disgusting solo cup mixture full of vodka, kool-aid mix, and Mountain Dew, she feels oddly weightless. Light. Not quite happy, but not quite so unhappy as before. Because here she is: living her life. Being a person and everything, and not crushed beneath the weight of her sadnesses. Moving on, as one does. Or at least feeling like she has the capability of moving on.

Though, when she catches a glimpse of Jannah through a break in the crowd, she does nearly weep with the relief of finally recognizing someone.

Rey forces her way through a group of blonde sorority girls and stumbles almost headfirst into Jannah.

The other woman squeals in excitement when she sees Rey. “_Risky Business_!”

Rey grins brightly, taking in Jannah’s gold headdress, a gauzy skirt that shows off most of her legs. “Cleopatra!”

“Oh my god, you look hot as fuck.” Jannah gestures for Rey to do a twirl, and she obliges, her borrowed socks slipping on the hardwood floor. “Where on earth are you keeping your phone in that outfit? Mine is crushing my heart to death in my bra. This used to be a lot easier when both phones and my boobs were smaller.”

“I left it in the car,” Rey shouts over the sound of someone caterwauling to Sweet Dreams. “Everyone I know is coming here anyway, and I was basically at 1 percent so I just let it die.”

“Going off the grid, I can dig it.” Jannah furrows her brow. “But aren’t you worried about someone stealing your car?”

Rey laughs. “No one would ever try to steal that car.”

“Someone might, in this crowd.” She glances around, eyes wide. “I can’t believe Rose and Finn even know this many people.”

“I blame it on Finn’s fraternity,” Rey says, tilting her head closer to Jannah’s ear. “The ones who live in D.C. are all super bro-y. They and their band of miscreants have corrupted the original purpose of the Carnivale of Spirits.”

“I feel so mature - I actually saw a girl in the hall dressed up like a playboy bunny calling her dad to ask him to deposit more money in her checking. At least I don’t still have a joint bank account.”

“Imagine how Poe’s gonna feel.” Rey looks around, sudden realizing she hasn’t seen him yet. She knows Finn invited him, the traitor. “When is he gracing us with his presence anyway?”

“I asked him earlier. He said something about getting birthday drinks with a frenemy. Said he’d be by late. He actually used that word - frenemy.” Jannah snorts. “What a tool.”

Rey scrunches her nose in confusion. “It’s Poe’s birthday?”

“No,” Jannah replies, giggling, “the _frenemy’s_.”

Whoever has the microphone hits some note so discordantly high it makes Rey flinch. “What are you planning on singing anyway?”

Jannah smiles. “Oh, honey, I’m not singing.”

Rey shakes her head. “Yes, you are. Rose does this every year. If she knows you, she will peer pressure you until you do it just to shut her up. My go to is usually Un-Break My Heart, but last year I tried it again and everyone called me a sad girl.”

Jannah considers this for a moment. “I think I’ll do Diana Ross. I do have the hair for it_._”

“Perfect,” Rey says over the music. “Personally, I’m thinking The Cranberries. Maybe Kate Bush.”

“Fuck that,” Jannah immediately dismisses. “You don’t need more of that sad girl bullshit in a conveniently British package. You should do some, like, riot grrrl music. Get out some rage.”

“I do have some rage,” she muses. Boy, does she ever. “What’s your recommendation?”

Jannah looks her up and down. “For you, skinny brunette chick? Maybe Sleater-Kinney. If you’re looking for something from the home country, PJ Harvey.”

“What, like Rid of Me?”

Jannah shrugs. “If you like.”

“That’s the only one I know,” Rey says. “And I barely know it.”

“All the more reason to look ridiculous singing it,” Jannah points out.

“You know what?” Rey nods her head repeatedly, her hair falling into her face. She can feel herself flushing, sweating, the number of bodies in the apartment driving up the temperature. She’s suddenly grateful for the skimpiness of her outfit, if only for that. “You’re right! Fuck being a sad girl!”

“Yeah!”

“Fuck the self-pitying bullshit!”

“I’m with you, girl!”

“He can go fuck himself!”

“Yeah! Wait, who?”

“No one,” Rey screams, tilting her head to down the rest of her nail-polish flavored drink. “I’m gonna die tonight!”

“That’s the spirit!”

Rey pauses, crushing the cup in her hand. “But seriously, don’t let me have more than one after this, I have to drive home later.”

“I got you.” Jannah takes the now empty plastic cup and shoves it into the chest of a passing shirtless man. “Make him wish he were never born, wherever and whoever the fuck _he_ is.”

It’s sort of a blur. Rey has more than one conversation about The Bachelor, despite the fact that she’s never seen it. She nods mindlessly through a discussion about how some girl named Kimberly in Delta is definitely a bitch who slept with someone named Jessica’s ex-boyfriend. She plays a round of beer pong against two finance douches and handily wipes the floor with them. She gives out a fake number to a man dressed as Waldo. She hollers her head off when Jannah belts out The Supremes (_set me free, why don’t you, baby_), when Finn does an encore of his song from last year, singing _I’m a motherfucking starboy_ at the top of his lungs, when Rose does You Oughta Know once again, undeterred as ever by the possibility of making a fool of herself.

After her second drink, at the peak of her foolhardy drunkenness, just before she cuts herself off to sober up, Rey finally gives into Rose’s (and Jannah’s) never-ending chorus of peer pressure. She yell-sings _don’t you wish you never, never met her_, sweat sticking her loose strands of hair to the back of her neck, while Jannah claps and shouts, _go fuck yourself, guy_. After, she hands the microphone off to a playboy bunny (not the same one as was outside, Jannah confirms), and drifts back into the crush of bodies.

Rey makes her way out of the thick of the crowd to get some room to breathe, eventually stumbling into the kitchen to hunt for some Brita-filtered water. She has to shove more than one of Finn’s frat brothers out of the way to get into the fridge, but she eventually succeeds in pouring herself a cup. She lingers in there for a while, taking thirsty gulps of her water, watching the same man enter at different times with two different women and make out with both in front of the freezer.

The time above the stove says 1:17 when Poe enters the kitchen. Rey can feel herself sobering up, an hour already gone by since she stopped drinking. Poe takes one look at her and stops in his tracks, a smile stretching over his face as he gives her an obvious, over-the-top once-over.

“Jackson,” he says, “you have legs.”

Rey snorts. “And you don’t have a costume, Dameron.”

“Came straight from a bar for grownups, unfortunately. No time to change.” He rolls his shoulders, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Jesus, parties like this remind me of why I never go to parties like this.”

“Can’t hack it, huh?”

“Maybe it’s time to admit defeat and accept I’m not in my twenties anymore.” He takes a long pull from his solo cup, wincing as he does. “Or even my early thirties.”

“You are getting closer to the grave,” Rey agrees solemnly. “How old did you feel when you saw not one, but two shirtless assholes dressed as Chippendale dancers?”

“I felt very old. I, however, have accepted it.” Poe laughs shortly. “Unlike Ben. He was in such a pissy mood all night. Like, we get it, you’re mad you’re officially dead center between 30 and 40.”

“Ben? As in Solo?” Rey is suddenly regretting her self-imposed drink limit; half-heartedly, she wishes the Six Flags souvenir cup in her hands was filled with vodka instead of water. God damn her self-control. “When were you with him? Jannah said you were getting birthday drinks.”

Poe looks at her in confusion. “It _is_ his birthday.” His confusion only seems to grow when Rey’s expression remains blank. “Did you not know that?”

“What would - _why_ would I know that?”

“It’s on his Wikipedia page, for Christ’s sake.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “I haven’t read his Wikipedia page, clearly.”

“Why not? That’s the first thing I do if I meet someone who has one.”

“It feels weird to me! Like, an invasion of privacy.”

Poe holds up his hands, palms facing her, and shrugs. “Whatever, man. He was just in the worst mood. Made me regret forcing him to go out.” He downs more of his drink, making a face. “God, who made this? It tastes like poison.”

“I think I heard someone say the drink is named _poison_, so that may be intentional.” Poe shrugs, taking another, longer sip. Rey eyes him, both disgusted and impressed. “Why did you make him go out at all, if it was such torture?”

“Because we’ve known each other for a long time, and that’s our dynamic. I make him do shit and he goes along until he’s too tired to pretend he isn’t enjoying himself. We do this every year.” Poe whistles low, shaking his head slightly. “But, man, I don’t know. Tonight he seemed like he was actually upset. Very melodramatic and broody. Like he resigned himself to dying alone, but still wanted to look pensive while doing it.”

Rey looks down at the cup in her hands. The checkered flags on the side wave at her accusingly. “That’s too bad.” And it really is too bad - she has no idea what could have made him so miserable. As angry as she might be with him, she doesn’t want him to be miserable.

For the briefest second, she lets herself imagine he might be upset over _her_, over what she said earlier. She sloughs off the thought as quickly as it comes. That way, she’s certain, lies certain doom in the form of more pining. Which, she has been told by Jannah, she does very loudly.

If Ben’s anguish over it is any indicator, it seems like getting older is just as much of a drag as Rey worried it would be.

“I asked if he wanted to come to this party -” Rey glances up, sudden excitement mixing with nervousness, mixed with anger and sadness and happiness and longing, all in the split second it takes for him to continue, “but he just got all mopey and said he was going home.”

She forces a small laugh out. “Probably would’ve brought down the partying mood if he was as bad as you said anyway, right?”

Poe laughs in response. “Fuck, can you imagine Solo willingly coming to this gathering of humans anyway?”

She smiles wanly. “No,” she says quietly, “I can’t.”

By 2 AM, Rey deems herself sober enough to drive back. The party has thinned out, but not by much. When she tells Finn and Rose she’s headed out, both of them whine for about a minute before realizing Poe has used the opportunity of their distraction to press his advantage in beer pong. Before she leaves, Rey gathers the clothes she came in up in her arms, shrugs on her duster (yes, _fine_, it’s a duster), and checks to make sure no one stole her wallet or keys.

Both she finds safely tucked away in the inside pocket of her coat, and with that, she decides the night is a total success.

Mostly a success.

Rey tears her hair down in the car, silently cursing the feebleness of the heater as her bare legs do little to warm the leather of the seat. She curses her own laziness, too, and wishes she’d just changed back into pants while she was still in the luxury of a heated apartment. As she drives, it starts to flurry - shimmering white stars of snow drifting toward the earth, shining even in the black emptiness of the night. There are other cars on the road, other people heading home. Rey drives carefully, her fingers clutching the steering wheel while she warily eyes each zig-zagging car and stumbling pedestrian.

She makes it home in one piece, dead phone battery and all.

By the time she gets there, the snow has picked up volume and speed, flakes of it sticking, heavy and damp, to her frizzy hair in the short walk to the building’s entrance.

Her bare legs feel almost numb, the bobby socks shoved into her Doc Martens doing little to prevent her toes from freezing. The white button-down shirt feels as thin as paper even under her coat. As she walks up the lone stairwell to the second floor, Rey prays the water in her shower hasn’t gone cold too, because she needs to wash the scent of beer and weed off of her skin.

She sees him the moment she opens the door to the hallway.

The sight of Ben there - sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, one leg stretched out in front of him, still wearing the same suit she saw him in earlier at the office -

Rey almost stops breathing.

Ben turns his head while she stands there, still frozen, and clambers gracelessly to his feet.

He is at the other end of the hall, far enough away that he has to raise his voice a little to say, “You didn’t answer your phone.”

Rey stares at him. She stares and stares. Gorges herself on staring. “I let the battery die.”

“On purpose?”

She takes a few steps down the hall, letting her legs carry her back by themselves. She doesn’t know if she has the ability to consider too deeply things like _walking_ or _movement_. “Maybe,” she says.

Before she can buy more time for herself to think (maybe to change her mind and run screaming back to Finn and Rose’s, and who is she kidding? She doesn’t make good enough decisions to do that), she finds herself in front of the door to her apartment, in front of Ben.

Ben, standing there gazing at her, dark hair tousled and dark eyes shining and tall and handsome and all of him somehow even more devastating than usual.

Rey looks up at him and breathes deeply, trying to will her heart into slowing down, rationing itself. Says softly, “Happy birthday.”

It must be something in her face, in her voice, in her. Something in her that makes something in him break in half.

“Don’t tell me to leave,” he says. She could almost swear the tremor in his voice might be from - _desperation_. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [is it warm enough for you outside, baby? is it warm enough for you inside me (me, me, me)?](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=dp45V_M4Akw)


	29. i love you, too. go fuck yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look as impatient as any of you were to read this i was much more impatient to write it which is why i wrote it so damn fast and am posting it NOW

_ That is just exactly what I wanted._

** 29\. i love you, too. go fuck yourself**

She probably shouldn’t let him into her apartment. For several reasons. Reasons she can definitely name and recall, even if it takes her a second to remember them.

For one thing: he dumped her. And another: he has been acting like a real dick. Also one more: she has no idea what she will do if she is in a room alone with him, really alone, not the cold comfort of false privacy granted by the door of his office. There are any number of things that she could do to him - that they could do to each other - if there is no one there to make them stop.

She worries about that: that there will be no one to make her stop.

Rey hears her own voice in her ear like someone else is speaking. “Want to come in?”

Ben nods, his eyes running over her, tracing along every inch. Like he is trying to recommit her to memory.

Her hands don't shake as she turns the key in the lock, as she walks into her apartment. She stands in the middle of the room and turns around only when she hears the click of the door shutting.

Ben stays close to the entrance, a full ten feet away from her, his arms hanging at his sides uselessly.

For a moment, neither of them says a word.

He finds his voice first, clearing his throat.

"What - what are you wearing?"

Rey looks down the opened front of her coat, suddenly reminded of the oversized button-down borrowed from Finn, the clear lack of anything underneath, the clothes she still has crumpled in her hands. When she looks back up at Ben, his face is etched with - _something_. Something as cold and quietly angry as it is - sorrowful. Heartbreakingly open. “Did you -” He leaves off the end of the question, but, then again, he doesn't really need to finish it.

Rey feels her expression harden, throwing her spare clothes onto the couch. “It doesn't really concern you, but it's a fucking Halloween costume. What, did you think I had a one-night stand and drove home without trousers on?”

“No, I -” He lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes falling to the floor. His shoulders sag, like he's relieved. “You're right, you're right. If you - if you had, it wouldn't have been any of my business.”

“Why are you here, Ben?” she asks, her voice cold.

He looks up at her, taking a step further into the apartment. “Because I'm sorry,” he says, the words almost too quiet for her to hear. “For everything.”

Rey clenches her jaw. “Fine. You're forgiven. Are you done?”

“No. I -” He doesn't exactly laugh, not really. His mouth is curled up in a rueful slant of a smile, his arms folding over his chest. “There is a lot I want to say, but it's - difficult. For me to talk about it. I've always had a hard time saying these kinds of things. I guess I should -” He changes tack suddenly, expecting her to keep up the way he always does, asks her, “Do you remember what I said to you that night in New York? After the rally?”

She closes her hands into fists, folding her arms across her chest. “You told me I was nothing.”

He shakes his head, his expression serious. “I didn't say...exactly that. Something like it, maybe. I wasn't blessed with a gift for oration like my parents. It's easier when I'm angry - I tend to do a lot of my worst work then.”

“You told me no one cared about me,” she grits out through her teeth.

“I was wrong,” he says. “Really, very, extremely wrong. And I'm sorry for that. But do you remember what I said after all that? After -”

“You told me I was desperate?” she suggests, raising her eyebrows.

He screws his eyes shut for a second, as if he is in pain. “Yes,” he says in a voice sibilant and soft. “After that.”

“I said you thought I was nothing, and you said -” _You're not. Not to me. His eyes so desperate, then, his hands reaching out as if to touch her -_ Rey shakes her head, trying to stay focused. “You said, not to you.”

Ben nods, almost casual. “That was it. I knew it right then.” Rey knits her eyebrows together, watching the way he glances down at the floor again, his eyes flickering back up at her when he continues, “I wanted to be wrong. It would have been...easier for everyone if I was wrong. I tried to ignore you then too, when you wanted to be left alone, but I couldn't do it. Even then, it wasn't possible. You're - unavoidable. Inevitable. That night in New York is when I knew.”

Rey frowns in confusion, lines etching deeper into forehead. “When you knew what?”

He stares at her like she is a student of his, like she’s just so close to grasping his meaning, like he doesn’t want to give away a chance for her to figure it out on her own, but she’s staring off into space, pencil nowhere in sight, and it’s so much faster to just _tell her the right answer_ -

“I love you,” he says.

For a second, the world narrows down to nothing.

Rey blinks. Her head is - screaming. It’s possible her brain has exploded, or maybe collapsed in on itself like an overdone soufflé. “What?” She’s already shaking her head while he nods, taking another step closer to her. She can see the movement of his chest, his shoulders, how he heaves in air like he’s just run a race. “No, that's -” She almost laughs. Her heart feels like it might shrivel into a husk and die because he can't be this cruel. Not him. Not to her. “No, you don't.”

“Yes,” he says, walking a step closer, “I do.”

“No, you don't,” she says again, louder this time. “When you - when you love someone, you don't just throw them away.” Her voice wobbles, and she blinks furiously, tightening her fingers in the crook of her elbow. _Don’t cry._ “You threw me away.”

He shakes his head before the words have entirely left her lips. “I didn't throw you away.”

“Yes, you did,” Rey spits out, viciously pleased that the words don’t waver on their way from her mouth, “you told me you didn't want to be with me -”

“I never said that,” Ben interrupts, more fervent than before. “I never said I didn't want to, I said - I told you I didn't think we should because -”

Rey lets out a harsh puff of laughter. “I know. Because you would look like a lecherous creep. Because you don’t want to ruin your reputation.”

“No,” Ben says heatedly, almost angrily, “because I couldn’t stand the idea of ruining _yours_. Because I couldn't - I couldn't put you through all of it. All of what _I_ went through, growing up. Everyone watching you, talking about you. I'm used to it, but you're not, and I didn't want to force you into that role, to tether you to me like that. I just kept thinking about it, all the things you'll be called, all the shit that will be written about you, and I thought it was for the best. And I was tired of being selfish. I've spent years thinking only about myself, and I thought - this time, I was thinking about you.”

“You made a decision about my life without asking me,” she says, fury bubbling up from the pit of her stomach, spilling from her throat.

He nods. “Yes, I did. I - it was stupid, but I thought I was saving you the trouble. In the long run.”

“Yeah, you did a great fucking job,” Rey says, spiteful, the words dripping with derision. “Everyone in the city thinks I slept with you anyway.”

“I know. I know.” He drags a hand down his face, eyeing her. “I'm sorry about that, too.”

“Wow, you're just on fire, tonight. So many things to apologize for.”

“Sweetheart -”

Rey steps back from him then, and Ben raises his hands like he’s surrendering, palms out. _See? I'm unarmed._ “No, don't call me that,” she hisses. “You - you were the one who said fuck the consequences, but you were the one who ran away.”

He edges closer to her, his hands still out in front of him like she’s a wild animal about to chew off her leg. Or maybe his. It makes her think of a hotel room in Manhattan, his face pressed into the satiny fabric of her blouse, back before he ever really touched her. “I didn't run away,” he says, his voice low.

“You did,” Rey says. Her vision blurs as she looks at him, the shape of him going soft until she blinks, tears tracking down her cheeks. _God damn it._ “You ran away, and I just - tortured myself over it, trying to figure out what I did wrong. How dare you say you love me. That's not how it works. You don’t - talk to me anymore, all you do now is ignore me and pick fights -”

“That was the only thing I had left.” He steps even closer to her; now, he could reach out his hand and hold her between his fingers if the desire struck him. Rey feels struck with _something_; she wants him to be struck, too. “Those first few days, you made it perfectly clear you didn't want to have anything more to do with me on a personal level. Arguing with you was the closest thing to talking to you, and I was going to take anything you gave me. I didn't even - I didn't even know that I hurt you at all until you told me I did. Today.”

“You didn't think you hurt me? After we were sleeping together for months, after all the shit I've told you, after everything, you thought I was just over it like that? Fuck you, Ben.”

“I thought you made it pretty obvious you didn't feel the same way,” Ben says, a trace of lingering bitterness in the words. “Leaving my apartment at 7 AM on a Sunday -”

“After I spent two nights in a row _in your bed_ -”

“You thought I was moving too fast,” he cuts her off. “Being too much. I know how it looks when someone's trying to distance themselves from a relationship, and I thought that was exactly what you were doing. And it was already getting too risky. When I told you I thought we shouldn't see each other anymore, you didn't seem to care much at all. You said it was going to end anyway.”

“I didn't want to cry in front of you.” Which, now she is anyway, tears trailing down her face like rain on a windowpane. _Fuck_ him. “You - broke my heart.”

Another step closer. Ben reaches one hand out as if to wrap his palm around her arm, and Rey jerks away. “If I had known - if I thought even for a second you could feel the same way, even just someday in the future, I would have walked away from everything. I almost did, even then. Even that day. But you just - you hated me so much after, and I thought it was too late.”

“So why -” She has to pause, her voice strangling for a moment. Ben waits, still and silent. “Why are you here then?”

“Because.” He looks at her steady, his voice soft as velvet. “Because you said you were hurting, too, maybe just as much as me. Because I panicked when I realized I was never going to get to talk to you, or even just look at you again. Because I already tried leaving you alone and getting over you, and I realized, I don't want to. I don’t want to get over you.” As he speaks, Rey lets him gain ground, lets him press his advantage, until he is scarcely more than inches away from her, his fingers reaching out, tracing along the folds of her coat. “Because my mother came to my office after you left and let me fucking have it for being so god damn careless about every single thing and she said you - she said you love me and God knows how she raised such an idiot bastard son but I had to do something to fix all this shit.” He smiles just barely, just enough to tilt the corners of his mouth. “So I'm trying to fix all this shit. I'm sorry for - _everything_. Rey - I want to be with you. I love you.”

Rey shuts her eyes tightly. Fuck, her head aches - her whole body aches. “No, this is -” She opens her eyes again, and Ben is still there. Still gazing at her. Not leaving. “Stop saying that. You don't love me.”

“I do,” he says. “I have for a long time. Sweetheart, I loved you before I ever even touched you.”

“No, you can't. It's - people don't love me.” Rey can feel her resolve slipping, and she clings to it, tries to push down every single feeling she’s been denying, everything she’s been hoping would go away on its own. It fills her up right to the top, threatening to spill over. “They like me, I am very likable, but no one -”

“I love you,” he says again, lifting a hand to gently cup her face.

Rey squeezes her eyes shut, feeling more tears leak from the corners of her eyes. “I don't believe you.”

“Try.” His thumb rubs back and forth on her jaw; he pulls her closer to him with a grip on the fabric of her shirt, his fingers moving to curve around the swell of her hip. She moves without protest, lets herself be moved. Lets herself be held. “Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done. I didn't have to work on it at all, it just - happened. Because you are the most belligerent, ridiculous, unpretentious, intelligent, funny, and beautiful and honest and just - the best thing I've ever seen. The best person I've ever seen.”

She is openly crying now, not even trying to hide it any longer. There is something in her chest, radiating out, warming her as sure as a flame. She manages to get out one word, just the one, the sound of it a sob: “Ben.”

“If you don't feel the same way, I'll leave you alone. You won't have to see me again. Just - tell me. Tell me if you love me, too.”

Rey looks at him and - _laughs_, the sound of it watery and thick. “Ben, you're - you're _unbearable_. You are sarcastic and elitist and you spend way too much money on hair products and food you don't even like.” She takes a sharp breath in, trying to steady herself, trying to steady the thrum of her blood in her veins. She can't; her heart pounds furiously between her ribs, singing and leaping. “And you're too funny and smart, and I hate it because you're always pushing, always challenging me, and, and - and you don't understand Bob Dylan.”

His mouth tips in a roguish grin. “I understand that he sucks,” he says mildly. He presses a little nearer to her, his head tilting closer to hers so he can whisper, “Tell me. Please.”

She leans into his palm, his index finger swiping away pricks of salt tears etching down her cheek. “Of course I do, Ben. Of course I love you. How could I not?”

Later, she will have no idea who moved first.

All she will remember is this: Ben holding her again, touching her again, kissing her again. His tongue licking into her mouth, his fingers threading into her hair, her hands doing their best to map out every inch of him she can reach. She will remember feeling with the tips of her fingers his face, his hair, his shoulders. She will remember being so happy, happy fit to burst open with it and pour out into a puddle all over the floor. An ocean of love.

Ben kisses her, holds her in his arms so strongly it feels like the strangely reassuring press of a bruise, tender and lavender and new. He kisses her like he wants to memorize every inch of her body, inside and out. Or maybe, she thinks as his lips move across her jaw, down her throat to the hollow of her collarbone, like it is something he already has committed to memory. Like he is reacquainting his tongue and his fingers with the freckles on her shoulders, the crease of her elbow. He can't seem to keep away from her lips for too long, though; he keeps returning to them, teeth grazing, nipping her, tasting her, even as he tugs her coat off of her shoulders, almost trembling as he undoes the buttons of her borrowed shirt.

He can barely stand to stop kissing her long enough to look where he's going when they start to stumble back in the direction of her bedroom.

Rey has no idea how they manage to make it to her bed. Her eyes lift to the ceiling as he pushes her back into the mattress, tearing the shirt the rest of the way off her body, unhooking her bra with it. She doesn't particularly see anything around them when as he lowers his head to familiarize himself with the ridge of her hipbones, the dip of her naval, the bumps of her ribs under her skin. Even when he opens his mouth to taste her, lick into the space between her legs. The words are hoarse when he tells her, half-amazed, sounding nearly drunk, “I dreamed about tasting your sweet cunt again.”

She doesn't know if she says anything in reply. Maybe she gets out, _I dreamed about this, too, I dreamed about you every night_. She can't be sure of much of anything.

All of her attention, every single atom in her body, is focused on Ben.

The way he undresses and settles between her legs, his hands grasping her thighs (asking her in a half-broken voice to _open up, please, sweetheart, open up for me_), the way he can't stop kissing her even when he rolls on a condom, even when he slips inside her body. How he parts her around him, opens her up. The way he whispers words into the soft skin of her neck, behind her ear, the same three words over and over and over again. Reverent. Tempered with love.

She hears herself distantly, saying it back, her voice cracked and raw and so in love, and Ben groans as he pulls out, pushes back in. Rey feels undone, liquid, her arms clinging to his shoulders like he is the only solid thing to keep her from floating away when he starts to thrust, the movements desperate and harsh.

She never thought she would have anything like him, that anything like him would want to have her. Loved him for so long, so quietly, trying to keep the fact of it hidden even from herself, and now -

Now, she has to put all of it somewhere, her love. She can't think of anyone else she wants to give it to. She can't think of anyone else who could take care of her better, who she wants to take care of more than him.

She tells him again (_I love you, Ben, I love you so much_) when her body starts to tremble and pulse around him, feeling him slow and shudder and come inside her. She breathes his name into his mouth and shivers into pieces in his hands.

After, Ben holds her in his arms, his thumb tracing a circle around the point of her shoulder, Rey burrowing into his side like she might carve out a home there.

They whisper things gently to each other, as if they are both afraid of disturbing the silence of the room, as the clock on her nightstand ticks later and later. Through the window, she can see it's still snowing. She hopes it sticks, if only for the morning.

“Unseasonable,” he tells her. “Unseasonable and unlikely.”

Rey shrugs. "But not impossible, right?"

“Yes,” he concedes after a moment of thought, laughing a little. “Not entirely impossible.”

She stays up only for a bit longer after that, exhausted from the day, Ben still murmuring softly into her hair everything he thinks about, everything he's been wanting to tell her.

She hardly even notices it when she finally closes her eyes and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i did inadvertently write that leia just goes around lady catherine de bourghing all over town


	30. well, that kind of just made this whole year worth it

_ Use the Force, ma’am._

I don’t even know what that means.

** 30\. well, that kind of just made this whole year worth it**

(_TUESDAY_)

The office feels like a graveyard, in spite of the fact that it isn’t empty. Jannah, the de facto leader of the interns, assistants, and other nonessential personnel who won’t be attending the rally in Manhattan later in the night, is the one who makes the first announcement that polling sites on the east coast have begun to close. Rey bites the stress hangnail that has developed on her thumb from worrying it with her teeth all day, in between last minute canvassing and cold calling and reminding everyone to “rock the vote!” (to be said with unhinged enthusiasm and dead-eyed weariness). She watches CNN alongside Finn and Rose and the rest of the skeleton crew, all of them stewing in a shared pot full of anxiety and dread instead of...stew.

Ben is in Manhattan, along with his family and Amilyn and Poe. She saw the pictures of him and his mother voting at their polling place online; he is still registered, he told her, laughing, when she questioned whether he’d be able to vote at all, as a New York Democrat.

Ben asked her to go with him more than once.

“Just in an unofficial capacity,” he claimed. “Just for the rally after the polls close. Just so you can - be there.” He didn't say the rest of the words - _be there with _me - but Rey could see it in his eyes anyway, in the way his expression softened in gentleness and adoration as he tried to convince her.

Rey refused for his own good, though it took more willpower than she had expected. Because it doesn't make sense for him to spend so much money on another plane ticket, because Ben should be focused on supporting his family for such a life-changing event, because she really does want to celebrate and mourn any possible outcome with the other assistants and interns, the people she’s grown to love. Because it's so obviously suspicious that she would be there, and their relationship has, beyond all reason and logic and perhaps even in spite of God, remained nothing more than a bit of local gossip.

Rey is still a little bit sad that she can't go. But not too much. Not unbearably so.

She is too in love to be too sad.

_It’ll be Florida_, Ben said to her on the phone an hour earlier. His conversation seemed to have been limited to comments about the electoral college and its various failings and successes. He was borderline obsessed with Wisconsin and Michigan and the Latino vote in Texas and in the panhandle, whether Cassian Andor’s presence on the ticket will be enough to bump the states from red to blue. _It’s going to be Florida. The fate of the country and, more importantly, my mother’s career is in the hands of people who release exotic snakes into the sewer system. If we get Florida, we have a shot in hell at winning._

Rey had never heard his voice so nervous. If the stakes weren’t so high, she’d say it was downright adorable.

No one says a word when the results start rolling in. The only noise comes from the television, the glow of the screen lighting up the dark of the room. Rey crosses her arms and grips her phone in her hand, clenching her fingers around the edge tight enough to bruise while the reporter on the field responds to each question from the station with a lag of exactly seven seconds.

(_SUNDAY_)  
  
The phone ringing is what wakes her up. Rey groans, rooting around on her nightstand blearily while Ben mumbles, “Make it stop.”

She shushes him half-heartedly, brushing her hair from her face and out of her mouth as she swipes her thumb across the screen to answer. She says, as brightly as she can muster, “Hello, this is Rey Jackson speaking.”

“Good morning, Ms. Jackson! I'm so glad I was able to reach you.” Rey blinks, catching sight of her clock. 7:22 AM. There is a current of dread shivering through her, a sudden nervousness that something is not quite _right_ \- “My name is Maz Kanata,” the voice goes on. “I'm an environmental lobbyist with the DCLRS. I was wondering if you might have a few minutes open on Monday to come to our offices for an interview?”

Rey blinks again, tension leaving her as quickly as it came. “An interview?” She wracks her brain, trying to remember if she sent out any applications there. “I'm sorry, I don't believe I've applied to -”

“Oh, you haven't,” Maz interrupts cheerfully. “Senator Organa faxed me your resume earlier this morning.” She thinks, _e__arlier this morning is not a real time -_ “I was very impressed. I thought you'd be a great fit for a junior analyst position we've been trying to fill.”

“Oh.” Oh. _Oh_. “Well,” she sputters, “yeah. I mean - _yes_, I could definitely fit an interview into my schedule.”

“Perfect! Could you make it in for something at around 9?”

“Yes,” she stammers, “absolutely.”

“Great! Let me just give you the address and office number -”

Rey fumbles for the pad and pen on the nightstand, half of her body falling out of the bed while she writes down the details and repeats them back to Maz. “Thank you so much for this opportunity, Ms. Kanata,” she says, her voice, thankfully, now slightly more awake sounding. “I am looking forward to it.”

“As am I!”

Rey murmurs a goodbye, hanging up the call with shaking fingers. She flops back onto the mattress to see Ben, now fully awake, grinning at her.

“Good morning,” she says softly.

He smiles wider. “You got an interview with Maz Kanata, huh?”

She furrows her brow. “You know her?”

“She's an old colleague of my mother's.”

“Well, the senator sent her my resume. On a Sunday.” Rey laughs, burrowing deeper into the comforter. “She said she was going to put my name out there, but I didn't really expect much.”

Ben reaches out for her, tugging her by the waist back into his chest. Rey settles in immediately, sighing her contentment, breathing in the smell of him, happy that she can, that he’s _back_ and _real_ and _with her_. “As I once heard some intern say,” he tells her, his voice light with drowsy amusement, “the devil works hard, but Leia Organa works harder.”

(_TUESDAY_)

Florida is closer than they thought it would be. Ben had expected they might start out trailing Snoke pretty heavily, considering the fact that he won the state handily in the last election. Ben thought, optimistically, that they might close the gap more and more throughout the night until they finally have to admit they’ve lost it again and had to look back to the rust belt. As the polling numbers are projected in the upper right hand corner of the screen, the anchors analyze early results and make grandiose predictions about who will become or remain the leader of the free world. There is a meter in the lower corner that shows who is predicted to win. Currently it stands at Snoke, with 90 percent likely to remain in office.

Not that their analysis means anything though, looking at what they were saying four years ago.

But Florida is closer than they thought it would be so early in the night. So is Pennsylvania, where Rey already sent her mail-in ballot. And that is interesting.

Jannah is on the phone with Amilyn, her voice hushed. Sitting close to the screen, Finn, Rose, and Kaydel pass the time by trying to come up with names for new states, among the list names like Smorthington, East Applebee’s, Myrango, and, Rey’s favorite, Illinois 2.

Rey’s phone buzzes in her hand at the exact same moment that a sudden wave of excitement ripples through the room. When her eyes refocus on the screen, she can see that Snoke and Leia’s numbers in Florida have somehow flipped. And Leia, absurdly, has the lead.

Rey glances down at the text from Ben, feeling a grin stretch across her face, the first time she’s smiled all night.

_We’re going to win the fucking snake state._

(_SUNDAY_)

She tells him in the shower, sometime between Ben scrunching her hair, his fingers slippery with conditioner, trying to convince the strands to do something aside from hang by her cheeks all frizzy and lifeless, and him doing his damnedest to devour her whole, starting with her tongue.

“I’ll send my official resignation in the morning,” she says around his mouth. “Tuesday will be my last day, regardless of if I get this job with Kanata or not.”

He smirks before diving in again, muttering between kisses. “You’ll get it.”

“You’re just saying that because you love me,” she teases, grinning up at Ben. He ducks his head, water dripping off the ends of his hair and into her eyes as he mouths the sensitive skin under her ear.

“Probably,” he says, and Rey resists the urge to scream from happiness. He _loves_ her. “But I still think you’re going to get it.”

Rey makes a face, her hands coming up to wrap around his shoulders. “I feel kind of weird that you’ll be giving me a recommendation though,” she says ruefully, “and that it’s your mother who put my name in the mix. Considering the whole sleeping my way to the top angle of it.”

He leans back from her then, his brow furrowed in indignation. “First of all,” he says forcefully, “sleeping with me would definitely do nothing for you getting a job at an environmental lobby. It’s more than likely a point against you, if anything.” He goes on more pointedly, ignoring her burst of laughter, “_Second of all_, Leia Organa sending your name will be more than enough proof of your brilliance for Maz, and I doubt she’ll even do me the courtesy of apologizing for shamelessly stealing you away. Lastly, my mother would never have suggested you just because you’re my girlfriend. She’s far too principled and hypercritical for that.”

There’s a roaring in her ears that has nothing to do with the water pounding down on them. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Ben stares at her, seeming genuinely confused. “What was what?”

“What was that you called me just then?”

The tips of his ears are red. Rey wants to make him bend his neck forward so she can kiss them. “My girlfriend,” he says quietly, suddenly shy.

Rey feels a little worried that her face will hurt from smiling so much, but she can’t stop herself. She’s just so happy. “Oh, is that what I am?”

Before she can say another word, Ben moves, his hold on her waist tightening as he pushes her back against the cool tile of the shower wall. He leans in close to her, something in his eyes grown dark and intent. “Baby,” he murmurs in a voice all low and soft, “don’t get cute with me.”

“I’m not cute,” she mumbles, still grinning, and he presses himself against her. She can feel the evidence his interest hard against her thigh, and she spreads her legs open just a bit, just enough that Ben has to bite down on a strangled groan.

“You know what you are,” he says, his mouth inches away from hers. “You know exactly what you do to me. These past few weeks, when you were showing off, flouncing around in your little outfits -”

“_Flouncing_?”

He nods, his gaze focused and intent. “You were torturing me, weren’t you?”

Rey shrugs, trying to appear casual. She doesn’t know why she bothers, considering their nakedness, considering the way Ben’s hand falls between her legs, stroking his fingers against her, inside her. She gasps, the sound of it small and pleased. She watches his eyes glaze over while he curls his fingers into her cunt, his thumb rubbing a steady rhythm on her clit that makes her head fall back against the tile, her breath punctuated by whines and whimpers. “You didn’t seem so affected,” she manages through some truly embarrassing noises.

“Oh, I was,” he says, sounding just as undone as her, even without her touching him. That has to be remedied - she wraps her palm around his cock, pleased when he shudders, the hand on her hipbone tightening. “I was affected.”

“Then my plot to destroy you was successful,” she laughs, the noise turning into a moan as Ben rubs her that much harder. She slumps back even more against the wall, opening her legs up, says breathlessly, “Condom?”

Ben blinks, some of his senses seeming to return as he ponders this insurmountable challenge. “Bedroom.” The word is ridiculously mournful, considering the circumstances.

“Maybe -” She pauses, swallowing around the lingering scratch in her voice from too much liquor and sex and love and not nearly enough sleep. “Maybe you can just pull out. Like you did that one time.”

He hesitates, agonizing. It gives Rey enough time to edge closer to him, guide his cock closer to her and let him part her folds with the head. “Okay,” he agrees, dipping inside her, nodding a little frantically. “Okay, let’s do it. Let’s be fucking stupid, yet again.”

Rey smiles as Ben lifts her up, settling his hips between her parted thighs. He slides into her, through her like water, fucking up into her like there’s something in her body he’s trying to shake loose. “Ben,” she murmurs somewhere between kissing him for the millionth time and gasping out her release, “when have we ever been anything but?”

(_TUESDAY_)

The mood in the room shifts entirely after they call Florida for Leia. What started out feeling like a funeral march becomes, suddenly, a wild sort of nervousness, a rush of hope and spirit no one really knows what to do with. Everyone is on the phone with friends or loved ones or donors or supporters or people they know at other campaign offices around the country; the noise level in the room goes from silent prayer at a Catholic church to a group of schoolchildren tearing through the zoo on a field trip.

Rey watches the TV screen next to Finn and Rose, only half listening to their unending dialogue about _we still need Wisconsin, we still need Pennsylvania and Michigan, we just need to keep our hopes level and realistic_.

Rey can’t keep her hopes level or realistic. Her phone keeps buzzing as Ben fills the screen with early predictions for every state as they call them, anecdotes about his process for calling results as early as he has been, early even compared to the reporters and analysts on TV, telling her about the sudden surge of enthusiasm from the suite his family is stuck in to watch the live results. Through it all, he types her name, over and over:

_Rey._

_Holy shit, Rey._

_Rey, we’re actually winning._

  
  


(_MONDAY_)

Rose looks basically dead-eyed when she meets Rey in the break room for lunch, after her interview.

(“I’ll be getting in touch soon,” Maz said, her eyes bright and gentle even through her coke-bottle lensed glasses. “We’ll set up a time for you to come meet the rest of the team.” Rey still can’t really believe it.)

“Rough weekend?” Rey asks Rose, unable to help the bit of amusement that comes through in her voice.

Rose groans, laying her forehead on the table next to her salad. “I spent all of yesterday hungover. I’d like to die, thank you.”

Rey pats her friend on the forearm, snorting. “There, there.”

Rose lifts her head up, her mouth opening as if she is about to say more, when she suddenly furrows her brow and stops. “You got laid,” she hisses quietly. “You little bitch, you got laid and you didn’t even tell me.”

Rey neither confirms nor denies. That’s all Rose needs.

“Oh my god, who was it? I didn’t see you go home with anyone, did you meet up at his place? Was it Nines? Was it _Poe_? Was it -” Rose stops talking, narrowing her eyes. “Wait. I know exactly who it was.”

Again, Rey does little more than shrug, which is really all that it takes.

“I will neither support nor reject this information,” Rose says seriously, “until you tell me: is it all good? Are you good?”

Rey nods, looking down at the pesto in the Tupperware container that Ben threw together for her the night before. Cooking on her stove after a day spent in her apartment, in her bed, decrying, as always, her inability to grocery shop for anything healthy. Promising that when it’s all over, no matter what, he’s helping her make and execute a proper grocery list. There is something in her face, she thinks, because when she glances back up, Rose is smiling, her eyes filled with happiness.

“Oh, babe,” she says. “Thank fuck. But, if you would, please remind him of this: it doesn’t matter who he’s related to or what his job is; I can and will kick his fucking ass.”

  
  
  
(_TUESDAY_)

“He already called to concede.”

Rey shifts, holding her phone closer to her ear. There’s too much noise on her end, even with a wall separating her from the other staffers, all of them well on their way to getting obliterated in cheap wine. There’s too much sound on his as well; they must be at the rally already. She wonders if they’ve dropped the balloons. She wonders if Ben is wearing the tie she helped him choose.

“Tell your mother I said congratulations,” she says, half-tearfully, half-giggling. Her entire body feels pulled in two from the rush of emotions flooding through her.

“She already knows. She’s demanding I introduce you to her, by the way. As if she doesn’t already know you.” A grating sound fills her ear for a brief moment while he adjusts the phone, and then his voice is clearer. Quiet. Like she might be able to pretend he’s in the same room. “Do you remember that restaurant I told you about?”

She nods for a moment, until she realizes he can’t see her and therefore has no idea what she is saying. “Yeah,” she gets out around the lump in her throat, “yeah, I remember.”

“We’re going on Saturday,” he says, and she can hear his happiness. She looks through the window to the unofficial office celebration room, watches Leia go out onto the stage in New York, Han following her closely behind.

“Wear something nice,” he says, his voice loud over the music, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she manages to say before he has to hang up the phone.

Rey watches him appear in front of the cameras seconds after the call ends. Poe and Amilyn are already visible, both of them looking frazzled and flushed with unbridled excitement. There is a twinge of disappointment that flutters through her again, but it’s a disappointment of greediness, of wanting even more than she already has. Which is: too much. More than she thought she’d ever get. On screen, Ben gives his mother a hug and smiles bright enough she can tell he probably doesn’t even know that he’s grinning at all.

Something in her chest feels like it is opening up, like a tightly held fist finally unclenching. Rey walks back to the room where all of her friends are waiting and opens up the door.

(_TWO AND A HALF MONTHS LATER_)

_(INAUGURATION DAY_)

Ben glares at the orange and white cat with eyes that just scream suspicion. Rey smirks as they stare at each other, both of them bristling with distrust.

“I don’t like it,” he says slowly, reaching the back of his hand out to the creature so it can catch his scent.

The feeling appears to be mutual; Bebe (as she has been calling her in her mind) reacts immediately, hissing at Ben.

Rey rolls her eyes at her boyfriend, scooting closer to the edge of the bed, where Ben and her cat continue to eye each other warily.

“Baby,” she murmurs into the soft, dark hair at the nape of Ben’s neck, “one of you is capable of rational thought.”

“Yeah, and the other one is me.”

She snorts. “Amilyn just pawned this little motherfucker off on me last week. She’s still getting used to my apartment. Give her some time to get used to you.”

“She hates me,” Ben insists petulantly, his mouth down-turned.

“She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t know you yet.” Rey rubs his back through his pajama shirt, nipping him on the side of his neck. “You need to be getting up anyway.”

He looks at her from the corner of his eye, his lips slanted up. “Oh, just me, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“I knew it. You were just in this until you had to wake up early on a day you got off work.”

“You have never been more right.”

Ben turns his head fully toward her, smiling, pressing a kiss on the undercut her jaw. “Get up,” he mutters into her skin. “Don’t want to be late.”

Rey groans, rolling out of bed, and heads to the bathroom to shower.

Months earlier, a week after the election, Hux finally published his threatened article about their (quote unquote) _affair_. Poe had, he told Ben with so much rage in his voice, debased himself greatly in convincing Hux to hold the story until then.

“Don’t forget,” Hux told Rey over the phone at the time, as she pretended to gag, “that I kept this story in my pocket in exchange for, among other things, quite a lot of quotes and interviews from members of the campaign. Your lover included.”

She had shuddered. “_Ew_. That word is somehow even worse coming from you.”

“I look forward to speaking with you on the record, Ms. Jackson,” Hux sneered, and hung up the phone.

The blowback wasn’t quite as bad as either of them had previously expected. A few minute details that didn’t hurt: the article named her as his _former_ assistant, current junior analyst; Ben is named as President-elect Organa’s son and _former_ strategist for the campaign, as he’d already resigned by that point; they had already been seen out on a date in public a few days earlier; the article was unable to pinpoint when exactly it started, only that it did before the election, the timeline vague enough to grant them the benefit of the doubt.

The attention lasted for about a month before people started to forget what there was to be angry about. After all, as a few comments under a Buzzfeed article highlighting the problematic nature of the relationship pointed out, _don’t they look just like so in love????? #CUTE #BENANDREY_

The inauguration will be their first public appearance as a couple. Which is, Rey thinks, all sorts of terrifying.

After their shared shower (_to conserve water_, Ben claimed, to her endless amusement), Ben shaves over the sink while she does her makeup, Bebe purring contentedly on her bed, on top of the quilt she bought at the flea market. Rey feels happy enough to cry.

She doesn’t though. Can’t ruin her makeup and all that.

She wears a dress she can in no way justify the expense of and doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt. By the time she finishes up, Ben is already ready, waiting by the door in his suit, all tall and handsome and _hers_.

When he looks up and sees her, his eyes first widen, then run up and down the length of her body, drinking her in like she is a glass of water and he’s been fucking dying of thirst. 

He clears his throat, shaking his head as if he means to clear it. Rey grins, a little self-conscious, and does a spin, the dress flaring out in a circle just under her knees. “You like it?”

His voice is hoarse when he replies, “I - yeah. You look - great.” Her smile grows, and he continues, “We should probably just skip this whole thing and stay home, right?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Skip your own mother’s inauguration?”

“It’s for a good cause,” he claims.

“Which is?”

“Sex.”

That startles another laugh out of her, and Ben smiles, his dark eyes soft as he gazes at her. Full of love. She walks to the door, taking his profferred arm. 

“Are you ready?” he asks quietly, glancing down at her.

Rey takes a breath, squeezing his hand in hers. “Absolutely,” she says, catching his eye and smiling wide. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i admit it, i’m that bitch that tries to wrap everything up in a nice little bow.........for sure none of this is remotely realistic, but i can’t bring myself to end anything involving these two beautiful idiots sadly. still that fiery spit of hope!!! (mayhaps someday i will write an epilogue of domestic fluff! who knows! the world is my oyster!)
> 
> thank you to everyone who read, and kudosed, and bookmarked, and commented. i haven’t finished a multi chapter fic since i was about eighteen, and even then it was pretty heartbreakingly bad. i am very happy with what i ended up with, and it is because of the wonderful support from all of you that i was able to complete this. thank you thank you thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> [i love you all!!](https://youtu.be/A_2HaVGvXdg)


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